


fill my lungs with sweetness

by beanierose



Category: RuPaul's Drag Race RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Flower Shop & Tattoo Parlor, F/F, It's finally happening!, this was what i wrote for nanowrimo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-20
Updated: 2020-07-10
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:54:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 66,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23230534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beanierose/pseuds/beanierose
Summary: katya owns a plant store. trixie is a tattoo artist. and they were neighbours (oh my god, they were neighbours).
Relationships: Trixie Mattel/Katya Zamolodchikova
Comments: 642
Kudos: 454





	1. strelitzia reginae.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i wrote this story way back in november, for nanowrimo. at the time, i tried really hard to ground this one in reality as much as i could. obviously, in light of what's going on in the world right now, this has gone even more AU than it already was. i hope you'll stick with me, and i hope it can be a good distraction from everything else that's happening. this one is based on [this tumblr post](https://katiehoughton.tumblr.com/post/612984061409034240), and there's a playlist which you can find [here](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0Y0gt6231cCPK3Mjme9FiG?si=PsTnM3h8R8ycQfbEWdv6Kg)!
> 
> i of course, as always, have to thank the polycule. you make my days so much brighter and i feel so fortunate to know and love you all. and [stutter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/stutter), my darling. i couldn't have done any of this without you. thank you for being there right by side through all of nano, cheering for me and never letting me give up. i am grateful every day to have you in my life, and i love you a lot.

in the morning when I wake  
and the sun is coming through  
oh, you fill my lungs with sweetness  
and you fill my head with you  
**the paper kites, _bloom_**

* * *

“What do you want for lunch today?”

Trixie holds the door half open with her forearm and pokes her head inside. Zamo’s behind the counter with her gloves on, putting stems together for an arrangement. She’s got a huge wedding in a couple weeks — Trixie’s heard all about it from Kim — and she’s so focused she doesn’t hear Trixie the first time.

“Zamo!” Her head snaps up then and she grins when she sees Trixie. “Lunch?”

“I’ll have that sub special again. But Trixie, I do not want a pickle. It’s very important that I don’t get a pickle.”

Trixie laughs and shakes her head. It makes some of her hair fall into her eyes and she wrinkles her nose at how faded the dye has gotten. “Sure, no pickle for you.”

There’s a customer coming up behind Trixie and she steps out of the way and holds the door open to let him in to Nightshade. It’s his first time visiting Zamo’s store; she can tell from how he stops in his tracks and turns around slowly on the spot to take everything in. In the last year or so, Zamo and Kim and Jinkx have branched out from traditional floral arrangements to capitalise on the houseplant trend. In the window there’s a row of fiddle leaf fig trees that Zamo refers to as her _problem children_ because they’re so high maintenance. There’s a unit of shelves with all kinds of cascading foliage, dischidia and pothos and hedera. Over by the counter there’s a small collection of monstera, their heads all bent together so that their enormous, shiny leaves almost touch.

“Hi, sugar,” Zamo says to her customer and comes around the counter, peeling off the gloves as she goes. Trixie lets herself have just one second to look at her long fingers and her red acrylics.

Zamo goes to stand with her customer next to the shelves of succulents. Trixie had been the one to accept that delivery for Zamo, because she’d been having what she had referred to as a _personal crisis_ in air quotes, and Trixie had been at her own shop anyway for an early appointment so it’d been easy. There’d been three pallets with little individually potted succulents and cacti, and Trixie had felt a strange surge of possessiveness when Pearl had come in later and started absently rummaging through them.

The guy looks young, and nervous, and way out of his depth, but Zamo’s smile is easy and warm. She asks him a couple questions about what he’s looking for and the price range he’s comfortable with, and then she turns over her shoulder to see Trixie still standing in the doorway. “Trix, would you grab me one of those juices too? You know the one. Thanks, mama.”

She does know the one. Each time Zamo convinces herself she’s on a health kick, she buys the lemon and ginger juice, drinks two mouthfuls and then scrunches her face up and squirms around. Trixie has never, ever seen her finish a bottle.

Trixie closes the door and almost trips over one of the buckets of bouquets Zamo has in front of the window. She only put them out there yesterday. Trixie had been in the back room putting some of her tools through the autoclave and she’d heard Zamo’s loud, raucous laughter. When she’d come outside to investigate, Pearl had been leaning against the storefront watching Zamo work and dangling an unlit cigarette between two fingers. Trixie had collected her from the sidewalk and gently encouraged her to come back inside and do her job.

It’s just beginning to get warm out finally. Trixie takes her sunglasses down from the top of her head to put them on. They’re her favourites, pink heart-shaped lenses that bathe the whole world in rosy pre-dawn light. She had Raja change out her septum jewellery this morning because she wants to showcase their new range, and her nose aches a bit now. Her fingers keep fluttering up to touch the tiny gold ring, even though she’s well aware that’s the worst thing she can do for it.

Trixie has a folded up till receipt in her wallet with everybody’s order written on the back of it. She hasn’t bothered to write Zamo’s down; she’ll remember it. They typically alternate which store does the lunch run to Andy’s Deli a couple blocks away, and today it’s Trixie’s responsibility. Raja isn’t working, and she doesn’t trust Pearl to get it right.

She remembers very clearly the first time it happened. Zamo had come into Prick the day they opened to give them a cactus in a terracotta pot with a ribbon tied around it in a bow. It still lives on the counter at the front of the studio, and Zamo sometimes comes in to check that they haven’t killed it yet. Trixie likes when that happens, likes the way that Zamo leans both forearms on the countertop and smiles widely as they chat together. While she was there that first time, she’d offered to pick up something to eat for Trixie and Raja since she was heading out anyway, as a welcome to the neighbourhood gift. Trixie had been suspicious then, but she knows now. It’s just Zamo.

Today she has to stop by the vegan place to get a bowl for Pearl, and then pick up sandwiches for everybody else. She’s got a three hour appointment this afternoon to do the linework on a sleeve and she knows she needs to carb load if she’s going to be able to concentrate for that long. She reminds the girl behind the counter at Andy’s twice to hold the pickles, and she gets a soda for Zamo for when she remembers how much she hates the health shot she asked for.

Pearl has a client for a piercing right now, so Trixie leaves the salad bowl in the tiny refrigerator in the break room for her to find and goes next door to have some company while she eats. Jinkx isn’t working today, and Zamo and Kim are putting out new stock on the display right next to the door.

“What _is_ that?” Trixie peers around Kim’s shoulder to look at the plant Zamo’s arranging.

She rotates the pot a half inch and steps back, satisfied. “It’s an angel wing begonia. She’s a drama queen.” She darts a small, fast glance at Trixie and one corner of her mouth twitches. “I know what I’m gonna name her.”

Trixie screams out a laugh. She’s trying super hard to stop doing that, because sometimes her clients will crack jokes with her and she can’t be thrashing around while she’s working. When she’s with Zamo she finds that she can’t help it.

Nightshade closes every day for a half hour so that they can eat. Zamo is a good boss, easygoing and willing to compromise. Trixie’s working on that, too. She opened Prick right out of art school, having finished up her apprenticeship alongside her degree. While she’d been training she’d built a steady following on Instagram that had allowed her to open her own studio. They’re doing well, but there’s a creature that lives in the pit of Trixie’s stomach and tells her that she could lose everything at any moment. There aren’t many tattoo studios on the Upper West Side, and Trixie is still working on not feeling out of place.

Kim turns the sign on the door over and flips the lock, and Trixie follows the two of them into the back room to eat. She feels kind of goofy handing everybody their sandwiches from a brown paper bag like a mom, even though she’s the youngest of the three of them. Zamo takes a huge bite of her sandwich right away without checking for pickles, and Trixie hands her the juice she asked for.

“Oh god, it looks horrible,” she says with her mouth full, and Kim scowls at her. “Horrible. Trixie, horrible.”

“Uh-huh.” Trixie reaches into the bag again and passes her a soda. It makes her whole face light up and her nose scrunches.

It’s nice not to have to sit at the table crammed into Prick’s tiny break room and bash her knees fifty times while she tries to eat. She’s known Kim for a long time — they’re roommates, and Trixie helped her to get this job — and Zamo is, well, herself.

Zamo cracks open the cap of her juice and takes a hesitant swig. Her face collapses into disgust and a shiver of revulsion ripples through her. She swallows it and makes an unpleasant noise. Trixie is not staring at the way her throat works, she isn’t.

“Thank you for this awful juice, Trix. Please don’t listen to me ever again.”

Trixie laughs at that and takes the bottle from her to try it for herself. It is kind of gross, but Trixie is pretty sure people don’t drink health juices because they taste good. She offers it to Kim, who pushes Trixie’s hand away and says she’s not interested in drinking both of their backwash, thank you so much. The sandwiches are good, at least, and Trixie finishes hers and blots carefully at her mouth with a paper napkin. She has a little compact mirror and her lipstick in her purse and she reapplies where it’s gotten worn away in the middle. When she looks up, Zamo is watching her with a little smile tugging at one corner of her mouth.

“Oh!” She snaps her fingers and then points at Trixie. “Do you have any slots free in the next couple days? Violet said I might need a touch-up on the new piece.”

Trixie breathes carefully through the double blow of being reminded that Zamo’s girlfriend exists, and having her be critical of Trixie’s work. She manages a nod. “Sure, I have an opening tomorrow evening. Do you want me to look now and see?”

Zamo peels her cropped sweater up over her head immediately. It makes Kim roll her eyes and shift a bit in her chair to avert her gaze. Trixie gets up and circles around to stand behind Zamo. Her bra is covering the bottom edge of the new piece so she unfastens it for a moment to get a proper look and then hooks it again.

“There are a couple places that could use redefining, sure. Just come in tomorrow after you guys close, it’s fine.”

“You are a gift to the universe in general and me specifically.” Zamo grins at her. She pulls her sweater back on and it makes her hair go crazy with static, pieces flying up around her face. She looks extra cute and snuggly today, with the sleeves tugged down over her hands.

Zamo goes outside to smoke a cigarette. Trixie gets up as well and collects everybody’s trash to separate out into what’s recyclable and what isn’t. It helps to have her back to the room — to Kim specifically — for a minute, so she can stop blushing quite so furiously. In the springtime she likes to wear a little less foundation, because she thinks she looks cute when her freckles start blooming across the bridge of her nose and her cheeks. It means there’s nothing to disguise her pink face and the crimson tips of her ears.

After she’s done there’s really no reason to continue to hang around Nightshade. She probably shouldn’t have left Pearl by herself either with nobody at the front desk, but it’s been a slow day. She pokes her head out of the fire door at the back to say goodbye to Zamo. She’s leaning against the brick with her eyes closed and a cigarette between two fingers, but when she hears the door she straightens up and grins.

“Thanks for lunch, Trix.” She accepts the hug Zamo wants to give her, and then carefully refuses to meet Kim’s eyes when she comes back inside.

It’s going to be one of those evenings where Kim won’t let it drop, Trixie can feel it coming already. Most of the time, it’s a nonissue. It’s not her fault she has a huge, endless crush on Zamo. Usually she can ignore it just fine, but some days it feels like it’s right at the surface, like if anybody touches her, her skin is going to open up like an overripe fruit.

She spends the rest of her work day plotting ways to distract Kim so she won’t have to hear another of her lectures. Trixie has met Zamo’s girlfriend Violet several times, enough times that she can’t live in denial that she exists anymore. They seem happy together, from Trixie’s limited perspective. It’s not like she thinks she actually has a chance with Zamo, ever. She just likes to have her crush and tend to it like a little pet.

Kim usually comes to hang out at Prick at the end of the day, since they’re open a little later than Nightshade, and then she and Trixie take the train back to Brooklyn together. Trixie knows that lots of tattoo studios around the city stay open much, much later than Prick does, but she doesn’t want that sort of reputation. They don’t take walk-in appointments for tattoos, or for any piercings other than ears. Trixie does offer late night appointments if she has a client who can’t make their regular hours, but for the most part they’re closed by seven and that suits Trixie just fine.

Today, Kim pokes her head in the door at six thirty to tell Trixie that she has last minute dinner plans with friends and she won’t be home until late. All of the tension Trixie’s been carrying around all day dissolves right out of her. The evening stretches out in front of her sweet and sticky like taffy. She can take a bath and stay in there as long as she likes, she can watch a movie and spread out over the entire couch. She can have some quiet. Not that Kim is loud — she’s a very considerate roommate — but sometimes Trixie just needs to be alone for a few hours.

* * *

Trixie is out cold early, and doesn’t even hear Kim come in. She texted with a few of her college friends she hasn’t seen for a while, but then she turned off her phone and focused on herself. The woman in the mirror this morning looks well-rested and glowy, her skin plump and hydrated and her freshly tinted eyebrows shaped just how Trixie likes them.

She pokes her head around Kim’s bedroom door when she still hasn’t emerged by seven thirty and sees an unmoving lump in her bed and the seafoam green spill of her hair over the pillows. She texts Zamo to ask if Kim is working today and gets a reply immediately, confirming she has the day off.

Trixie leaves her to her hangover and travels into Manhattan by herself. It’s a little too much solitude, now. She has her headphones on and she listens to her favourite playlist, has to make a conscious effort not to sing along with Dolly on the crowded subway.

When she gets to Prick, Trixie opens the shutter over the front of the studio and says hello to Jinkx, who is opening up Nightshade this morning. She knows she probably needs to dial back her enthusiasm a couple notches, from the way Jinkx’s eyes widen.

“Good morning, Trixie-girl,” Jinkx says after Trixie has exhausted herself monologuing about everything she’s experienced the last twelve hours or so. “She won’t be in until later on this morning,” she says, and Trixie feels her face get hot.

“Zamo?”

Jinkx snorts and unlocks the front door of Nightshade. “I’ll tell her you asked after her.”

By the time Raja gets to work fifteen minutes later with coffee for herself and a tea for Trixie, she’s mellowed a bit. Trixie needs people, she _likes_ people. Her favourite part of her job is getting to meet all kinds of different clients and get to know them, help them figure out their perfect tattoo or piercing.

“How’s today look?”

Raja comes around the front desk to look at the computer over Trixie’s shoulder as she scrolls through their calendar for today. She adds a little note at the end to remind herself that Zamo is coming in, not that she thinks she could possibly forget that. Raja has a client coming in for a consultation this morning so she swigs her coffee down quickly, wincing and massaging her chest as it burns all the way down her oesophagus. Trixie has one of her regulars coming in a little later, so it means she can take her time with her tea. After an hour or so, she sees Zamo walk by on her way to work and gives her a little wave, gets an unnecessarily enthusiastic one back.

All day, Trixie is distracted by the thought that she’ll get to see Zamo later, and get to tattoo her. She’s professional as always with her clients through the day, but it’s there in the back of her mind. When it is finally time, Zamo comes bounding loudly through the door. Trixie is finishing up going through the aftercare process with her previous client, who looks deeply alarmed by Zamo.

“Hey,” Trixie says. “Go on in back, get comfortable. You know the drill.”

She can hear Zamo talking to Raja in the back and she does her best to tune it out while she makes her client promise to give them a call or come back to the studio if he experiences any issues at all. He agrees, and takes the leaflets Trixie puts into his hands.

“Can I head out, if you have Zamo here to close with you?” Raja asks, already halfway into her leather jacket. She’s a little older than Trixie is, and Trixie knows that it’s important to her to make it home to her wife at a decent hour. She tells her she can go, and then she locks the front door behind her and heads through to the back room.

Zamo is sitting with her shirt off and her chest against the chair. Trixie busies herself preparing all of her equipment while Zamo messes around on her phone. She takes a selfie that Trixie is in the background of and posts it to her Instagram story; Trixie’s phone dings with the notification right away.

With any other client she’d be annoyed, wanting them to focus, but she’s worked with Zamo so many times now, and they’re friends. She trusts her to be serious when it really matters. She shaves the area immediately surrounding the tattoo and Zamo jokes the entire time about her back hair and calls herself a sasquatch, makes a strange bellowing sound that she insists is an _extremely accurate bigfoot call, Trixie_.

It always makes her squirm when Trixie cleans her skin because the rubbing alcohol is a little cold. Even through her gloves Trixie can feel how warm Zamo is. She takes her time, tries to be as gentle as she can, but Zamo still shrieks when the cotton pad touches her.

“You know, most people struggle with the actual tattoo part, not me cleaning their skin,” Trixie says. The curled ends of her ponytail fall over her shoulder as she leans in to make sure she’s thoroughly disinfected Zamo’s shoulders.

“I’m an enigma, Barbara.”

“You’re something,” Trixie agrees.

Now that they’re ready to start, Zamo puts her phone down and pillows her head against her forearms with her eyes closed. The very first time Trixie had tattooed her, only a couple weeks after Prick had opened, Zamo had bombarded her with questions while she worked. She liked it, liked getting to feel smart and how Zamo had listened intently and with awe. It’s been a couple years since then, and Zamo has gotten enough tattoos by now that she could probably recite the process back to Trixie perfectly.

She’s never gotten one from anybody else. Not a different shop, not even from Raja or Pearl. Every single artwork on Zamo’s skin was put there by Trixie, and almost all of her piercings too. Whenever she thinks about that, warmth spreads outwards from the pit of Trixie’s stomach into her extremities. Zamo likes to show her tattoos off, likes to post about them on social media, and she’s always sure to tag Trixie and the studio whenever she does.

“Ready?” Trixie asks, and gets a little noise of agreement before she touches the needle to Zamo’s skin.

It won’t take her too long to touch up the design, but she goes slowly. Of all of the hundreds of people she’s tattooed, she’s most proud of how Zamo’s have turned out. The fact that she works right next door has something to do with it, sure. Trixie sees her every single day, and can check for irritation and make sure that she’s moisturising. But it’s more than that. Zamo is gorgeous, and Trixie is quietly thrilled that someone that beautiful would trust _her_ , Trixie, to tattoo them.

“I’m kind of bummed that I’m never gonna get to see this one with my own two eyeballs,” Zamo says. Her voice is muffled against her arms, but Trixie’s gotten very good at deciphering what people are saying through gritted teeth or with their face against her chair.

“You’re telling me you can’t rotate your head a full one eighty degrees?” Trixie lifts the needle away from Zamo’s skin for a second, just in case. “I don’t believe you. I’ve seen you, you rubber band lookin’ bitch.”

Sure enough, Zamo shrieks a pneumatic laugh and writhes around on the chair. Trixie holds the tattoo machine up a little higher and lets her have a moment to calm down. She wishes she could see her face, how her mouth opens wide to let all of that joy come spilling out, but the smooth skin of her back is not bad either.

“Don’t you think it’s enough that you’re inflicting physical pain on my corporeal form at the moment? You gotta verbally assault me too, mama?”

Trixie grins, even though Zamo can’t see her, and touches the needle to her skin again. “I know, I know, I’m sorry. You’re doing so good, my brave girl.”

“Oh, you are rotted,” Zamo says, but Trixie doesn’t miss the way that her thighs twitch when she praises her.

They’re quiet for another minute or so while Trixie focuses. This particular design is delicate, with some of the finest linework she’s ever done and some elements that are dotted rather than solid lines. The very tip of her tongue is poking out in concentration, and she’s glad that Zamo can’t see that to tease her.

The phone ringing would have startled her, a year ago, but Trixie has worked very hard to become unflappable. It’s right next to Zamo’s head, but she can’t move to look at it. “Who is it?”

Trixie leans over her to see the screen, and just barely manages to suppress a little grunt of irritation. “It’s Violet.”

“Oh, can you pick it up? Put it on speaker for me?”

She has to take her glove off to do it and she goes to the counter to put a fresh one on and let Zamo and Violet say hello. There’s only so much stalling she can do before it’s even more obvious that she’s listening in so, freshly re-gloved, Trixie gets back to work.

“I’m sorry, babe. Something _came up_ , or whatever. I have to bail.” Violet’s voice is not any less annoyingly slow and fried over the phone as it is in person.

“Oh,” Zamo says quietly. “It did?”

“It’s like, I made a commitment. I have to prioritise that. It’s no big deal if we skip tonight, right?”

Trixie bites down hard on the inside of her cheek so she doesn’t accidentally contribute her two cents. Sometimes, when Zamo is smiling at her or when she ducks next door to borrow Trixie and ask for her opinion, she feels like they’re friends. That’s not really true. They’re not even colleagues, they just work in proximity to one another. Zamo’s relationship with Violet is none of Trixie’s business.

“Sure,” Zamo says. Her voice comes out smooth and unphased, but Trixie can feel the tension beneath her gloved hands and she lifts the machine off of Zamo’s skin again. “Okay. Yeah. That’s cool.”

They say their goodbyes and Violet hangs up the call. Trixie waits to see if Zamo is gonna ask to take a break but she doesn’t, so she finishes the last of the touch-ups she needs to do. She takes a picture on Zamo’s phone so that she can see it and then tapes a square of saran wrap over it before she lets Zamo sit up. She took her bra off so it wouldn’t be in the way and she doesn’t bother putting it back on, just pulls her t-shirt on over her head.

“Hey. I’m sorry I kinda. . . listened in,” Trixie says. She’s got her back to Zamo, to give her a little privacy to get dressed and to give herself a little privacy to stop blushing all the way up to the tips of her ears.

When she’s done dealing with all of her equipment she turns back around to see Zamo sitting sideways on the chair and swinging her legs like a little kid. She tied her hair up on top of her head so it wouldn’t get in the way and Trixie is distracted for a moment by the way it exposes her delicate neck.

“Oh please, you’re the last person I care about overhearing anything. You’re _Trixie_.”

“I’m sorry she bailed on you,” Trixie offers. “That sucks.”

Zamo shrugs with one shoulder and then wrinkles her nose. It must hurt a bit still, especially if she moves her arms too much. “It does suck, but you know. It’s fine. It was just a movie.”

“I could go with you?” Trixie offers, without really thinking it through first. She does want to, it’s not that. She doesn’t realise quite how badly she wants to until she’s faced with the possibility that Zamo might reject her.

Instead, her face brightens and she hops down from the chair to take one of Trixie’s hands in both of hers and squeeze. “You would?”

“Sure. You’re my last appointment today.” Trixie narrows her eyes. “You’re not even an appointment at all. They usually pay.”

“These are crimes! You’re a criminal.” Zamo fumbles in her back pocket for her wallet and pulls out a handful of singles, makes like she’s going to make it rain over Trixie. She yelps and snatches them from her before she can, thumbs through them to count.

“Oh wow, seven whole dollars. Thank you so much, you’re so generous.” She fans the bills out and waves them back and forth in front of Zamo’s face for a second before she hands them back to her to put away. “Is that a yes?”

Zamo lifts one dark brow until it disappears beneath her bangs. “You don’t even know what the movie is.” Warmth spreads into Trixie’s cheeks again and she opens her mouth, but Zamo is still talking. “It’s that horror one. You know, with those two married ones.” She snaps her fingers in the air a couple times, frowning, until Trixie offers a suggestion. “Yes! Right. Quiet Place 2. 2 Quiet 2 Place. You like horror, right?”

“My favourite,” Trixie agrees. It’s the truth, but Zamo could have asked her to see the new Pixar offering and she’d have been just as enthusiastic. She suddenly, desperately wants to hang out someplace other than one of their two stores.

Zamo hops down from the chair and stuffs her wallet into the back pocket of her jeans again. She’s several inches shorter than Trixie is and she’s beaming up at her now. “Then it’s a yes. I’d love to see a movie with you, Trix.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i can be found on [tumblr](https://katiehoughton.tumblr.com/) and [twitter](https://twitter.com/reallybeanie)! i'd love to hear what you thought. please make sure you're taking care of yourselves, and each other ♡


	2. gardenia.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks as always to the polycule - i can't think of a better family we could've built, and you are all so precious to me. and thank you [stutter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/stutter) for looking this over for me, and for being the most wonderful. i love you.

It’s thirteen blocks to the AMC Lincoln Square, and Zamo chatters the entire way. A couple times, she gets distracted by something in a store window or at a newsstand and has to take a couple huge, bounding steps to catch up to Trixie again. She never carries any kind of purse and the pocket of her oversized cord jacket jangles with her keys and phone when she hops around on the sidewalk.

She holds the door open for Trixie and insists on standing one stair above her on the escalator so that they’re almost the same height. It’s peculiar to see her like this. Most of the time, Trixie interacts with her in a professional capacity. Even when there aren’t any customers in the store, she’s still Kim and Jinkx’s boss. Now she seems to have let loose completely, and at the top of the escalator she grabs for Trixie’s hand to drag her towards the concession stand.

When it’s their turn, she rests her hand in the dip of Trixie’s lumbar curve and turns to smile at her. “What do you want? It’s on me. Popcorn?”

“Yes of course,” Trixie says. “Just get what you’d usually get. You’re way pickier than me.”

Zamo pretends to be affronted for half a second, and then turns to look at the kid working the stand. He seems a bit taken aback by her wide grin and her chaotic energy as she asks him for what they want, changing her mind a couple times halfway through a sentence. Once she’s paid and they have their snacks — Zamo insists on carrying everything — they head for the correct screen.

Trixie’s been to this theater once or twice, but it’s so busy she usually prefers the one closer to her apartment. It’s worth the crowds to see how Zamo’s face lights up when she sees the facade over the entrance to their screen. There’s a red Chinese Imperial style roof over it, and the columns either side each have a gold dragon on them. Zamo looks helplessly from the intricate detailing, to her arms full of their snacks, and then to Trixie, who laughs and takes everything from her. Hands freed, she reaches out to skim her fingers over the decorations.

“You been here before?” Trixie asks.

Zamo turns over her shoulder to look at Trixie and her nose crinkles up. “Sure have not. It’s pretty cool. You ready to go in?”

The tickets — the ones she was supposed to be sharing with Violet — are on Zamo’s phone. She shows it to the person at the entrance and then she holds the door open for Trixie and touches her back again, beneath her pink denim jacket, to guide her up the stairs to their seats.

They get settled with the popcorn balanced on the armrest between them. That’s worrying Trixie a bit, because Zamo is not known for her ability to sit still. She’s not entirely convinced that she’s going to be able to make it through the whole length of the movie. It feels thrilling to be here with her, like they’re doing something illicit even though Trixie knows plenty of people that hang out with colleagues outside of work. Except that Zamo isn’t her colleague; she’s her sometimes-friend and sometimes-client.

A couple of times, they both reach for the popcorn at the same time and their hands bump together inside of the bucket. Trixie likes it. It’s been a while since she’s been with anybody and she’s a little touch-starved. The third or fourth time it happens, Zamo wraps all of her fingers around Trixie’s index and tugs it a couple times, makes a goofy honking noise.

She whispers commentary at Trixie all through the trailers, about what else she’s seen and liked the actors in, whether she’s planning on seeing the movie when it gets to theaters. Trixie hums her agreement as softly as she can, conscious that it’s a busy showing and there are people all around them. She doesn’t know what kind of moviegoer Zamo is, and she can’t imagine that she’s the type to be rude or inconsiderate, but she also can’t know for sure.

As soon as the movie starts she shuts up completely. If Trixie’d known she’d be seeing it tonight she would have rewatched the first one, but she gets sucked right in pretty quickly. Beside her, Zamo is on edge and twitchy. When the plot starts to build towards the climax she grabs for Trixie’s hand and squeezes hard. Her skin is very warm and a little clammy. It’s nice.

“Are you okay?” She leans in close to put her mouth to Zamo’s ear when she whispers, and the swell of her bottom lip touches the metal of her conch ring.

Zamo takes her eyes off the movie for one second to glance at Trixie. The light from the screen bathes the left side of her face and throws her cheekbones into sharp relief, makes her left eye glitter cinematically. “Yes. I’m easily spooked. I’m glad you’re here.”

“Sure,” Trixie says back, very quietly.

A man sitting directly behind them clicks his tongue and Trixie very nearly turns around to glare, but she doesn’t want to miss any of the action on screen. Zamo has scooted over to the right in her seat a bit to put herself closer to Trixie, and when things start to escalate she hides her face against Trixie’s bicep so that she’s only peeking. Trixie has the strange thought that she can’t imagine her doing this with Violet, can’t imagine her cuddling up to Violet ever. It’d be like trying to snuggle with a stick insect. Or a viper.

By the time the credits roll, Zamo is clinging to her hand so tightly that Trixie swears she can hear her bones all crunching together. They stay in their seats until the theater is mostly empty. Trixie hasn’t seen anything on Twitter about there being a post-credits scene for this movie, but she’s not about to get up. Not with Zamo still breathing a little heavily next to her. It’s distracting; it makes her unable to be still in her seat.

“That was the best movie I’ve ever seen,” Zamo says, and then immediately, “that’s not true. But I sure liked it a lot.”

There’s a small handful of popcorn left at the very bottom of the enormous bucket Zamo bought for them. Trixie upends it into her palm and holds it out to let Zamo pick at it like a little bird. She chews happily and Trixie’s heart rolls over inside her chest.

“I liked it, too. Are you ready to go?”

Zamo considers Trixie for a moment with her head tilted, and then she nods. “I’m ready.”

Outside it’s gotten dark around them and Trixie takes her sunglasses from the top of her head and tucks them safely away in her backpack. They’re only a couple blocks from the subway station at 66th, but Zamo lives around here somewhere so Trixie’s pretty sure she won’t be taking the train.

She’s pulled a pack of cigarettes from her jacket pocket and she lights one, turns her head away from Trixie to exhale. “I’m so sorry, I know, it’s so disgusting.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything less from you,” Trixie teases. It earns her a gasp of affront from Zamo. They walk for a little bit, Zamo a half a pace behind Trixie so that she’s not blowing smoke right at her. When she finishes her cigarette she starts chewing gum immediately and spritzes herself liberally with perfume.

“Oh!” Zamo says, right as Trixie opens her mouth to say goodbye. “Will you come back to my apartment with me? I know I’m flexible, but I don’t think I can reach my back to wash it.”

Trixie laughs, startled, and rakes a hand through her hair. She hits a snag so forcefully that it makes her eyes start watering and she blinks hard a couple times to clear them. “Sure, yeah. Can’t have you ruining my art.”

Walking in the city at night is one of Trixie’s favourite things to do. She doesn’t get to do it that often, because she doesn’t always feel safe by herself, but with Zamo next to her taking long strides to keep up, she can appreciate it. When they get to the door of Zamo’s building, a small swarm of butterflies comes to life in Trixie’s stomach. This is their first time spending real time together, just them, and now she’s going to get to see where Zamo lives.

“I do kind of live in squalor,” Zamo says right before she opens the door to let Trixie in to the apartment. “It takes all of my mental fortitude to keep the store tidy. I don’t have any energy for it in my home.”

Trixie’s peering over her shoulder while she talks, trying to get a look inside. It smells good, like Zamo but with something more earthy underneath. When she does finally get inside she stops right in the doorway to take it in. It’s a studio, but it has white walls and a herringbone floor and big windows and more plants than Trixie has ever seen in anyone’s home before.

“Et voilà, bienvenue chez moi.” Zamo spreads her arms out wide either side of her body and does a ridiculous little bow that makes Trixie snort a laugh.

She’s taken her shoes off, so Trixie does the same and leaves them neatly next to the front door. Not dumped in a pile in the middle of the floor like Zamo’s Docs are. She’s moving through the space turning on lamps and filling the kettle to heat on the stovetop, and Trixie stays right where she is just watching her. It’s strange to see how she inhabits her space. Trixie feels voyeuristic, even though Zamo invited her in.

“We should take the wrapping off now and let it breathe,” Trixie says. Her voice cracks in the middle of the sentence and Zamo grins at her, wiggles her eyebrows. She’s so tiny; Trixie hasn’t ever seen her with her shoes off, before.

She strips out of her jacket and t-shirt and stands in front of Trixie just like that, without her bra. Like this, Trixie can see all of the tattoos she’s given Zamo over the last few years. They’re beautiful, and Trixie finds herself wanting to touch them. Instead, she instructs Zamo to go lay down on her stomach on the bed.

While she’s in Zamo’s bathroom, gathering a bowl of warm water and the alcohol-free soap she gives all of her clients for aftercare, Trixie tries to breathe down deep into her stomach like she does when she’s singing. She doesn’t know what’s _wrong_ with her this evening. She’s seen Zamo without her shirt on many times, has even seen her without her bra once or twice.

It’s different in her apartment. It’s different after they’ve watched a movie together tonight, and shared popcorn and laughed and gotten butter all over each other’s hands. While she’s at the sink anyway, Trixie runs the cold stream of the faucet over her wrists and then dabs them against either side of her neck. She can hear Zamo out in the living room, singing along loudly and off-key to some obscure Russian pop Trixie vaguely recognises.

“Trixieeee,” she whines, and Trixie bites her bottom lip. “Come on, I’m cold.”

Trixie is careful not to slosh water out of the bowl and ruin Zamo’s beautiful floors as she comes back. She sets everything out on the nightstand and sits down next to Zamo’s hip. It makes the bed dip, and she rolls towards Trixie the tiniest bit. Trixie peels the tape holding the saran wrap in place very gently, making sure not to tug on Zamo’s skin unnecessarily.

As soon as she touches her, she scoffs. “You’re not cold, shut up. You’re like a space heater.”

“I’m warm?”

“You’re noisy, and you smell like burning dust.”

Zamo screams, and it’s muffled half against the pillows but it’s still pretty loud. It can’t be much fun to be her neighbour, but Trixie feels so tender towards her tonight that she’s willing to forgive her a lot. Once she’s gotten the dressing off, she wets the washcloth she found with some of the soapy water and gently cleans up Zamo’s tattoo. It was only a touch up, so there isn’t a lot of dried blood. While she works, Trixie thinks about Zamo doing this herself for her other tattoos, maybe having Violet help her with the ones that are trickier to reach.

“That feels good,” Zamo says quietly. “You’re really gentle.”

She arches into Trixie’s hands and purrs in the back of her throat. Trixie swallows hard and shifts her hips on the bed. Zamo is a sensual person, she knows that. A couple of times Trixie has walked into Nightshade to find her laid out on her back with Kim stretching one of her legs for her, and Zamo moaning loud and uninhibited. It’s different here in her apartment, with no storefront and no Kim and her not even wearing a shirt.

“Any pain? Itching?”

“Nope. Feels perfect.”

Trixie pats her skin dry with a paper towel and then applies a thin layer of moisturiser. In this position she can see all of the tattoos along Zamo’s arms, the Empress tarot card she got last year on the back of her left bicep. They’re all beautiful; she clearly takes good care of all of them.

When she’s done, Trixie gets off the bed and gives Zamo some space to sit up. She rummages on the floor next to the bed for an oversized tee and pulls it on, takes her jeans off while she’s at it. Trixie feels silly and overdressed in her pink denim jacket and white dress.

“You want a drink? I don’t keep alcohol at home but there’s tea, water, juice.”

Zamo seems antsy all of the sudden, and it puts Trixie at ease a bit. She’s not the only one reeling from the peculiarity of this situation. “I’d love tea. Thanks.”

Trixie stays right where she is. Zamo’s feet are sticking to the wood floor as she walks around and making an adorable little slapping noise. She reaches up into an overhead cabinet for two mugs and her t-shirt rides up her thighs to expose her boy shorts. Trixie’s not blind, and she’s not _straight_ , either: she’s known Zamo is hot from the day they first met. It’s so intimate to see her like this that Trixie’s afraid to move or make any kind of noise and shatter the moment.

The music Zamo put on is still coming from her speakers and she starts singing along to it again while she fixes tea for each of them. Eventually Trixie manages to unglue herself and she comes over to the kitchen, props her hip against the counter next to Zamo. Like this, she can see all of the decorations on the refrigerator. She has all kinds of different magnets, touristy ones and creepy ones made of plastic doll hands and eyeballs that look like she might’ve made them herself.

There are lots and lots of Polaroids tacked up there, too. Trixie recognises one of them from her birthday last year; Zamo had come into the studio and put a party hat onto Trixie’s head, insisted that Pearl take a photograph of them. Zamo’s looking right at the camera and beaming, but Trixie’s head is turned and she’s looking at Zamo and smiling softly. There are pictures of Zamo with all kinds of people that Trixie’s never met, never even heard about most of them. There’s one of her sandwiched in between two people who Trixie knows from Instagram to be her friends Tatianna and Alaska. And there are several pictures of her with Violet, and one or two of just Violet by herself, looking stunning and thin and high fashion.

It hits her just like that. As much as she likes Zamo, she can’t do anything about it. She’s with somebody else, and they look so happy grinning out at Trixie from the Polaroids tacked to the refrigerator door. Well, Zamo is grinning. Violet’s pouting. Violet is gorgeous, and is Trixie’s diametric opposite.

Trixie accepts the mug that Zamo offers her and follows her over to the couch. Zamo blows on the surface of her mug and then takes a sip; it’s way too hot still and she scrunches her face up as the tea burns the roof of her mouth. Trixie sets hers down on the coffee table, instead.

“This is nice,” Zamo says. “You’re nice.”

“I’m _nice_?” Trixie squawks, and it makes Zamo thrash around and almost spill scalding tea all over herself.

She puts her mug down next to Trixie’s and draws her feet up on the couch, her knees bent against her chest. Her makeup is beginning to break up at the tip of her nose and on her chin, and the edges of her red lipstick have feathered. It’s sweet, to see her like this. Evening Zamo, Zamo winding down and preparing to rest.

“Okay, you’re not nice. You’re kind.”

It makes Trixie go warm all over. “Thanks. You are, too.”

“We should do this more!” Zamo stretches out one leg to poke Trixie’s thigh with her bare toes. “Hang out outside of work. I had a good time, with you.”

“I did too,” Trixie laughs.

They drink their tea together and chat a bit, about their two businesses and their friends. Zamo goes off on several tangents, as always. Trixie is consistently amazed by the things that come out of her brain, and it’s even more evident how smart she is outside of work when she doesn’t have customers or Kim to reel her back in. Trixie is notorious for interrupting, but she does her best just to listen. She wonders if Zamo will mention Violet at all but she doesn’t, and Trixie isn’t about to be the one to bring that up.

“I should go,” Trixie says when she can see the bottom of her mug and the last dregs are cold. She doesn’t want to, not really, but it’s an hour or so on the subway back to Brooklyn and she doesn’t love making the journey alone late at night.

Zamo walks her down to the main door of the building and hugs her in the threshold. She’s warm and solid in Trixie’s arms and she puts her whole self into it, her body tight against Trixie’s. She tells Trixie again how much fun she had, how she enjoyed getting to spend time with her just the two of them, and makes her promise that they can do it again soon. It makes Trixie’s cheeks pink, and they stay that way for the whole journey home while she listens to her favourite playlist and thinks about Zamo.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i can be found on [tumblr](https://katiehoughton.tumblr.com/) and [twitter](https://twitter.com/reallybeanie)! i'd love to hear what you thought. i hope you're all keeping well ♡


	3. aster alpinus.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you to the polycule for being the most wonderful and supportive, always but especially right now. and thank you [stutter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/stutter) for whipping this into shape, for holding my hand, and for making me laugh every day. i love you.

Trixie is trying very hard not to think of it as a date. She can’t go there. She won’t. So. After their movie _night_ , they start texting more. Something has shifted just slightly, and now Trixie can think of Zamo as her friend and not an almost-colleague. Trixie wakes up most mornings to a text from her about something she can’t decipher until she’s been awake for more than ten seconds. They spend time together outside of work more and more. Always at Zamo’s place, since it’s much closer to Prick and Nightshade, and Kim doesn’t love the idea of having her boss hang out in their home.

It’s not like they plan to do things together. Trixie just keeps herself busy, is terrible at being still, and she’s surprised how often Zamo texts back _sure, I’d love to!_ when Trixie invites her someplace. They’ve been to a couple of the museums together — Zamo ran loops around the helter skelter ramp at the Guggenheim until it made her motion-sick — and they’re both particularly excited about the Costume Institute exhibition at The Met. Trixie doesn’t love the black and white colour scheme of it, but she does appreciate how they’ve used the writing of Virginia Woolf to construct a narrative. And she likes seeing how into it Zamo gets, how she lingers in front of each exhibit and really studies it. A couple of times, she stretches her arm blindly behind herself and wiggles her fingers until Trixie steps up to stand beside her and listen to her read aloud the little information placard.

After Zamo has exhausted herself, they get pizza from Saba’s and then trail back along 82nd to sit on the museum steps and eat it. Trixie chews cheerfully and leans over Zamo’s shoulder to watch her excitedly posting a hundred pictures to her Instagram story. She doesn’t do it like Trixie does, doesn’t spend five minutes on each photograph editing it and playing with Instagram’s tools to make it as aesthetically pleasing as possible. She just posts it exactly as it is, even when Trixie squawks about it being out of focus or too dark.

“Here’s the thing, Trix, is that I don’t care if it looks cute.”

Trixie swallows her mouthful and touches her fingers to her lips. They come away greasy and she has to catch herself before she touches the thigh of Zamo’s pants. “But Nightshade is so cute.”

“That’s mostly Kim. She’s not afraid to tell me if something looks ugly.”

That does make sense; Trixie and Kim have gotten into more than one argument about the different visions they have for their apartment. “Your tattoos though?”

“Well yeah,” Zamo says easily, and lifts one shoulder. “You did those.”

Trixie really can’t argue with that.

It’s been a while since Trixie has really gotten close to somebody. After things ended with Shea in college she learned to guard her heart a little more. She’s dated a couple people here and there, but nothing that she could get to stick. It feels kind of goofy sometimes, to be texting Zamo when she’s right next door, but their conversation shifts easily from iMessage to in-person and back again.

Sometimes one or two of Zamo’s or Trixie’s other friends will join them someplace. Everyone Zamo meets adores her immediately. Trixie has to very patiently listen to Monét talk about how great she is for nearly an hour when they take the train back to Brooklyn together after the three of them go out to dinner. Trixie really likes Tatianna, Zamo’s friend. The first time they meet is at The Club Car at The McKittrick, when a group of them all go to see Tati’s performance art in action. The whole night, Zamo is giddy and effusive, fidgety in her chair next to Trixie’s at their table. When Tatianna finally comes out onto the little stage, Zamo’s clasped hands fly to her chest and stay that way for the whole performance. Her eyes are enormous and shiny and she can’t seem to stop grinning. Afterwards, Tati comes to sit in the audience with them and watch the rest of the performances. Zamo puts her hand on Trixie’s knee when she introduces them, and Trixie’s face gets hot.

She and Tatianna hang out a couple times without Zamo there. Trixie gives Tati a conch piercing that she’s immediately obsessed with, and Trixie has to keep swatting her hands away and reminding her that she’s not supposed to be touching it.

A few weeks after their movie night, Trixie gets a last-minute cancellation and suddenly has three hours to spare. She picks up an iced tea for herself and coffee for Zamo and Kim, and heads next door to fill some time. Pearl and Raja are both working next door, so she’s not leaving somebody on their own, and anyway, it isn’t as if she’s gone very far.

There’s a counter towards the back of Nightshade where they put together arrangements. Zamo is standing behind it. She looks up at the sound of the door, and smiles widely when she sees that it’s Trixie.

Right now there are various flowers scattered all over the countertop, as well as Zamo’s tools, and she’s holding a few stems together in one hand. She’s wearing overalls today and she’s got a pair of gardening gloves hanging out of the front pocket. Trixie navigates easily through the narrow space of the store to give Zamo her coffee.

“Oh, my god, thank you,” Zamo says when Trixie puts the cup into her free hand. “You’re an angel.”

Trixie tries very hard not to flush scarlet, tries not to think too much about how Zamo’s fingers brushed over hers when she accepted the coffee. How they lingered. She always feels curiously thrown off-balance when she receives the full, blinding brilliance of Zamo’s attention. Trixie is confident and self-assured; she meets strangers every day and has to spend multiple hours at a time with them, and she prides herself on being able to put anybody at ease. There’s something about Zamo that makes her feel almost shy.

“This looks complicated,” Trixie says. It’s raining today and the earth smells like springtime; her hair curls as it dries against her cheeks. The air inside Nightshade is perfumed with the humidity so that she can almost taste it.

Zamo sighs and sets her coffee cup down at the edge of the countertop, out of the way. She plucks a couple of the stems out of the bunch in her hand and wrinkles her nose, surveying what she has spread out before she selects something else to add to the arrangement.

“Remember I told you about that wedding?” Trixie makes a small noise of confirmation. “The straights are at it again. The bride told me to go back to the drawing board.” She makes air quotes and lifts her nose, puts on a snooty voice that makes Trixie cackle. “But her creative vision lacks specificity or like, taste. She can’t tell me what she wants. Only what she absolutely, categorically does not want. Which is everything I’ve shown her so far.”

Trixie pulls the stool next to the counter close enough that she can arrange herself on it delicately, her legs crossed at the ankles. “But it’s gays that are ruining the sanctity of marriage? Sure. Here, give me that. I’ll help you.”

She takes the bundle of stems from Zamo’s hand, carefully so she doesn’t disrupt the spiral they’re arranged into. Zamo considers it with both hands on her hips. She’s very talented; Nightshade have been commissioned in the past to provide flowers for all kinds of events, like galas and movie premieres. There was even, last year, a feature about the store in _Better Homes and Gardens_. Trixie still has a copy of it. Because she’s proud of Kim. Not because the article led with a full page photograph of Zamo in an embroidered dress sitting on the counter surrounded by plants and laughing open-mouthed, her head thrown back.

“She said the baby’s breath is tacky and overdone.”

Trixie shrieks. “Tacky and overdone? Oh honey, she should see my makeup on a Friday night at Barracuda. _That’s_ tacky and overdone, honey.”

“Stop, I hate it, I hate it!” Zamo wheezes, and swats at Trixie’s bicep. The thrill of making her laugh hasn’t quite worn off yet, and Trixie wonders if it ever will. She can’t imagine it. Zamo picks out two other flowers and holds them both up. “I like the craspedia. I think that’ll work if she wants to eschew convention. But the baby cosmos is a safer bet and more like, romantic. What do you think?”

Trixie takes a moment to really look at both options. She’s flattered that Zamo is even asking her opinion. She’s an artist, of course, but it’s not the same thing at all. It’s fun to get to see Zamo in work mode; she’s so cute in her glasses, half of her hair pulled back in that god-awful banana clip.

“I think the craspedia. She can’t accuse you of being overdone if you go for that. They’re fierce.”

Zamo carefully eases the baby’s breath out of Trixie’s hands and slides a couple craspedia in instead, spiralling the stems to keep the arrangement all together and looking full and pretty. “She wants more foilage, too.”

“ _Foil_ age?” Trixie repeats.

“Uh-huh!” Zamo nods rapidly. “She said it looks old-fashioned to have too many flowers.”

“She doesn’t want it to be old-fashioned and she came to you, the oldest living florist?” Trixie says slowly, and Zamo screams and turns a tight little circle on the spot.

“Look,” she says once she’s recovered. “She’s one of the most high-strung and high-maintenance creatures I’ve worked with in all my history of owning this store. But she’s also paying me a lot of money.”

“Oh yeah?”

Zamo leans in a little closer to Trixie. “A _lot_. So. Whatever she wants is whatever’s gonna happen, mama. We need more foilage.”

“You know you’re pronouncing that wrong,” Trixie says. They go around in circles for a minute, Trixie sounding out the syllables slowly and Zamo repeating them back to her incorrectly. Trixie thinks she might be doing it on purpose, but it’s so charming that she doesn’t mind.

While she works, Zamo talks Trixie through what she’s doing, what each of the different types of flowers are as she adds them. Trixie is trying hard to listen, because it’s very cute how animated Zamo has gotten, but she’s mostly just looking at the careful work of her elegant fingers and how meticulous she is, how she’ll adjust things the tiniest amount over and over until it looks right.

It’s making Trixie feel more important than is probably true, to sit here and keep hold of the arrangement while Zamo adds long stems of dusty miller and shifts things around to make sure the yellow mokara orchids haven’t gotten all bunched together. Trixie likes the enormous round heads of the yellow pincushions the best, but everything looks beautiful and vibrant.

When she’s satisfied, Zamo takes the arrangement from Trixie and ties some twine around it to hold everything together. “It doesn’t need to be tied if it’s going in a vase, but last time she was here she fucking picked it up and everything fell apart.”

“It looks great. You’re really talented.”

“I might need you to come in here and tell her that. Will you be a character witness for me?”

Trixie laughs and hops down from her stool. “I think if I touched a bible I’d immediately burst into flames, so I don’t know about that. But I’ll fight a WASP if you need me to.”

“I need a cigarette,” Zamo says, and presses the back of her hand to her forehead. Trixie follows her through the store and out of the door at the back to the tiny patch of open sky their two stores share.

* * *

A couple weeks later, Zamo comes to Trixie’s apartment for the first time. She’s in Brooklyn anyway, doing a work thing with the Botanic Garden that Trixie forgot the details of immediately after hearing them. Once she’s finished she texts Trixie to see if she wants to grab dinner. She’s already in her pajamas and about to order takeout, so she invites Zamo over without really thinking it through.

It takes ten minutes of Zamo wandering through the space and touching absolutely everything before Trixie can get her to commit to what she wants to eat. Their place is always fairly clean and tidy, because Kim is just as Type A about that stuff as Trixie is. Still, Trixie finds herself following along behind Zamo as she looks through all of their books and trinkets, hoping that a great cloud of dust isn’t going to suddenly erupt from someplace they’ve neglected.

“Oh, Trix, this is so fuckin’ cute.” Zamo turns around to look at Trixie, cradling a brass armadillo in both hands. She and Kim squabble a lot about the built-ins, each of them secretly rearranging the tchotchkes when the other isn’t home. The current configuration was Trixie’s doing, and she’s quietly thrilled that Zamo seems to like it.

There are a few plants on the shelves that Zamo is especially taken with. Kim’s in charge of keeping them alive, since it _is_ her job and Trixie seems to immediately condemn any greenery that she goes near. Zamo runs her fingertips over the delicate leaves and nods approvingly.

“You have a lovely home,” she says once she’s thumbed through Trixie’s record collection and made noises of disgust at most of them.

Trixie shrieks, loud enough that Kim calls her name sharply from inside her bedroom. “Are you a fucking Stepford wife? Oh my god. Awful.”

Zamo does a pretty good impression of one of the malfunctioning robots from the movie and Trixie giggles wildly, flopping down onto the couch to watch her at it. They’re making so much noise that Kim comes to stand in the doorway of her room, hip propped against it and her arms folded. When Zamo exhausts herself she collapses onto the couch next to Trixie, sprawled across it so that her thigh is pressed in close.

“Are you two going to be this loud all night?” Kim asks. It makes Zamo straighten up and press her knees together, and Trixie narrows her eyes at Kim over top of Zamo’s head.

When the food arrives, Kim answers the door and sets all of their takeout containers on the coffee table. She disappears into her room with her pad thai and closes the door. Zamo has arranged herself sideways on the couch and tucked her bare feet underneath Trixie’s thigh, and she wriggles her toes.

“Is this a mukbang?” she says with a mouthful of food.

Trixie rolls her eyes and swallows her bite before she speaks. Like a person. “No, you freak. No one’s watching you. You think people would get off on this? Watching you eat?”

“It’s like seeing a sasquatch, Trix.” Zamo points at her with a chopstick. “Extremely rare, and incredible to behold.”

They eat mostly in silence, the muted music from Kim’s room taking the edge off it. Generally Trixie is happy to just exist in a space with Zamo without feeling like she needs to speak. They usually talk a lot anyway, just because Zamo is a cornucopia of random trivia and insane anecdotes from her own history and ruminations on pop culture. It’s still nice not to feel like she has to.

When they’re done and Trixie has collected all of their trash, she finds she desperately doesn’t want Zamo to leave yet. She rakes a hand through her hair, a little more aggressively than she means to, and snags a knot that makes her eyes water. She turns around and Zamo is watching her over the back of the couch, chin pillowed on her folded arms.

“Hey, I uh. . . I have this plant. In my room. It’s ailing pretty badly.” Her voice comes out all anxious and squeaky, like a boy asking his crush to the prom.

Zamo nods enthusiastically and follows Trixie into her bedroom. She spends even longer looking at everything in here, asking Trixie for the history of some of her decor and making sure she hasn’t missed anything. Trixie sits cross-legged on the end of her bed to watch Zamo moving around her room. There’s a poster on the wall, an abstract line drawing of a woman that Trixie picked up at a flea market a year or so ago and is obsessed with.

“You’ve done a couple tattoos in this style, haven’t you?” Zamo says, without turning away from the poster to look at Trixie. She reaches out one hand towards it as if she’s going to trace it.

Trixie leans back against her hands. “Yes I have. Have you been stalking my Instagram again?”

“I like to look at Prick’s account from time to time.” Zamo drops her hand and turns to look at Trixie properly. “Do I stalk your own, personal account? Why would I need to do that when I see you every day?”

Before Trixie can decide how to respond to that, Zamo gasps and rushes over to the shelf where Trixie’s extremely sad dischidia lives. She runs her hands along the strands of it, which are fewer and much less lush than when Trixie first got it. It was a gift from Monét for her birthday last year. Trixie is starting to think that Monét knew exactly what she was doing and deliberately wanted Trixie to have to watch the plant’s slow death.

“Oh, _Trixie_. How could you let this happen?” Zamo sounds genuinely pained. She’s got her fingers in the soil already and she frowns and makes a clicking noise with her tongue.

Trixie flops dramatically backwards onto her sheets — they’re new, dusty pink linen and she is obsessed with them — and throws an arm over her face so she can groan into the crease of her elbow. “I don’t _know_. I don’t know what variety it is so I didn’t know what to search for or how to help it.”

“It’s a ruscifolia,” Zamo says immediately. “Why didn’t you ask Kim? She literally lives next door.”

It’s too humiliating to look at Zamo right now, so Trixie leaves her arm right where it is. “Kim’s mean. I wanted to ask you.”

“That’s really gay, Tallulah. And also- why did you wait till now? I literally work next door.”

Trixie sits up, then, and swivels around to face Zamo properly. “I kept forgetting. And it’s _embarrassing_. I’m just a normal human woman. It should not be this hard. Can you help me? You plant whisperer.”

“Of course I’ll help you.”

Zamo picks the pot up off the shelf and comes to sit next to Trixie on the bed with it in both hands. She’s cradling it against her stomach protectively, like she thinks Trixie even looking at it is going to kill it off even more. She might not be wrong about that. She asks Trixie to put her hands into the soil to feel how wet it is; she is absurdly proud that she manages not to make a lewd joke.

“The pot doesn’t have any drainage holes in it, and you’re watering way too often.” She’s so gentle and calm that Trixie doesn’t feel admonished, even though Zamo is essentially listing all of her failings as a parent right now. “It’d ideally be planted in a much looser mix than this. Why don’t you bring it to the store and we can drill some holes in this and repot it into some coco husk chips or something.”

The idea of carrying the plant all the way to the upper west side seems pretty ludicrous, but Trixie suddenly, desperately wants them to manage to resurrect it. “You don’t think it’s past the point of no return?”

“You are worryingly quick to want to euthanize it.” Zamo arches one eyebrow. “I think it’s gonna be just fine. And when it’s happier, it should start flowering. It has these beautiful, tiny white flowers that smell amazing. You’re gonna love it.”

Zamo has gone kind of moon-eyed over it and she gazes down at the plant in her hands, her face soft around the edges with wonder. After a moment she breaks out of her enchantment and puts the plant back in its spot on the shelf, comes around to sit next to Trixie on the bed again. She asks more questions, about where Trixie got some of the decor pieces in her room and if she can help Zamo revamp her own apartment. After she leaves, Trixie goes to bed feeling warm and contented.

* * *

One of her favourite things to do after work is grab a cookie from Levain on Amsterdam and walk around the reservoir while she eats it. She’s done it herself a whole lot, but one evening Zamo is hanging out at Prick and Trixie invites her along.

It seems utterly impossible, because the bakery is only four blocks away, but Zamo has never been there before. The line starts outside on the street and Trixie is anxious that Zamo isn’t going to have the attention span for this, but she hops around excitedly next to Trixie.

Inside it’s much cooler, the AC up uncomfortably high, and the skin at the inside of Trixie’s biceps prickles with gooseflesh. When they get to the front of the line Zamo goes right up to the glass, and Trixie has to fist her hand in the back of her cropped sweater and yank her away before she can press her nose to it and fog it all up with her breath. She’s gone bug-eyed already and she turns over her shoulder to look at Trixie with a huge smile.

“This is so good. What do I get, oh my god.”

“There’s no wrong choice,” Trixie says, and peers around Zamo to check that they have her favourites. “I like the chocolate peanut butter and the dark chocolate chip the best.”

Zamo considers that for a moment. There’s a line of people behind them waiting to make their own orders and Trixie is very conscious of their eyes on the two of them. She’s entitled to take up space and she’s comfortable in that fact, but she feels defensive over Zamo.

They get one of each kind to split. Out on the street, Zamo takes her first bite of the peanut butter and stops walking in the middle of the sidewalk. The moan she lets out is obscene and it makes all of the hairs on the back of Trixie’s neck stand up.

“Good?”

“I’m gonna serve these at my wedding,” Zamo says with her mouth full of chocolate. It should not be adorable, but a wave of fondness closes over the top of Trixie’s head.

Trixie laughs and nudges on Zamo’s elbow to have her at least move over to one side and let people go past them. Her own cookie is warm through its paper bag and she knows she needs to eat it while it’s still all melty and breaks apart in her hands, but she’s enjoying watching Zamo experience it.

“I distinctly remember you telling me you don’t want to be married.”

“I’ll marry this cookie,” Zamo says, and takes another huge bite.

Trixie starts them walking again, down 77th towards the park entrance. Zamo is mostly quiet next to her, and when Trixie glances over she’s got chocolate all over her hands and a tiny blob smeared on her cheek. Trixie always has a little thing of wipes in her backpack and she fishes a couple out once they’re both done, so they can clean themselves off.

“I see now why you like to do this so much.” Zamo takes her sunglasses down from the top of her head to put them on. The sun is just beginning to set over the water of the reservoir, glinting off of all of the buildings surrounding the park.

Trixie hums contentedly and puts her own sunglasses on. “Yeah. It’s nice to have something that’s, like, for me. You know what I mean?”

“I do,” Zamo nods. “Thanks for sharing with me. Let’s keep it at that, please. I don’t need you to share your venereal diseases, thank you so much.”

“Oh you _wish_ you could get all up in this infected pussy,” Trixie says, just to hear Zamo scream.

They get strange looks from the people using the jogging track to actually jog, because they laugh like a couple of ghouls and because walking in a straight line is not in Zamo’s skillset. The yoshino cherry trees are just beginning to bloom and Trixie gets to hear Zamo tell her all about them and how they got here, how they’re all propagated from one single tree in Japan.

Trixie feels peaceful this evening, the world warm and soft and scented and Zamo at her side, occasionally grabbing for her hand to emphasise her point. It feels good to have expanded her circle, opened her heart a little more.

Movies have become a standing date for them, most Fridays. Zamo loves films, and Trixie loves getting to hear her talk so enthusiastically about them and sing the praises of the actresses. It’s their thing, the one thing that no one else ever tags along to. As much as she loves their friends, Trixie is glad to have something that’s special and just for her and Zamo.

Violet is sometimes around and sometimes not, and Trixie still hasn’t been courageous enough to ask Zamo about how that whole thing is going. She does tease her sometimes, about the fact that she owns a store that sells plants and is dating somebody named after one. It’s the one area that makes her flush pink instead of scream laughing, so mostly Trixie just doesn’t bring it up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm around on [tumblr](https://katiehoughton.tumblr.com/) and [twitter](https://twitter.com/reallybeanie)! i really hope you're all well and healthy and taking care of yourselves ♡


	4. calluna vulgaris.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks as always to the polycule, for being the greatest. i appreciate you more than i can say. everybody knows how blessed i am to have [stutter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/stutter) in my life, but this week it's more evident than ever. if you're not reading her new work, [Vernalis](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23451748/chapters/56215783) (the best birthday gift i have ever gotten), you are missing out on something truly remarkable. please go tell her how wonderful she is - none of my own work would be half as good without her.

Trixie thinks about it for a while before she asks Zamo to help her re-dye her hair. It’s not that she can’t do it herself, she’s done it before many times, but it makes her arms ache and it’s hard to be sure that she’s gotten every single strand. And yeah, fine, maybe she does want to just sit down and have Zamo take care of her.

“That’s a very bold and courageous choice.” Zamo nods sagely for three seconds and then cracks, erupting in a wheezing stream of laughter. Jinkx looks up from the computer to glare at them both and they each give her a sheepish smile.

Trixie allows herself to be herded towards the front of the store and she leans against one of the counters. Zamo, fidgety as ever, starts arranging some of the fiddle leaf fig trees and then produces a soft cloth from her back pocket and begins carefully dusting off their leaves. Trixie isn’t working today, she stopped in to check everything was okay with Pearl and Raja, but she’s mostly just here to hang out with Zamo and annoy Jinkx.

“Listen, whatever you do can’t be worse than this faded out realness I’m serving right now.”

“You saw _Rugrats_?” Trixie nods. “Remember Cynthia?”

Trixie screams and swats at Zamo, who is grinning in a way that’s almost maniacal, showing all of her bottom teeth as well. They continue to goof off for the next fifteen minutes, until it’s time for Nightshade to close and Jinkx looks about ready to strangle them both. Trixie has laughed more in the last few weeks than she can remember for a very long time.

This will only be Zamo’s second time ever visiting Trixie’s apartment. Trixie’s a little nervous about it, even though she’s proud of how she and Kim have decorated the place. It feels intimate to let Zamo in to her private world, feels like she’s unzipping her chest and letting her look at her raw insides.

On the subway ride they share Zamo’s earphones and Trixie lets her choose what to listen to, which winds up being a podcast that she immediately tunes out. It’s crowded, so Zamo is squished up against Trixie’s side and eventually she gives up and hooks her arm through Trixie’s so that they’re both more comfortable. She was arranging some eucalyptus branches when Trixie got to Nightshade earlier this afternoon, and she can still smell it on her very faintly.

“Is Kim home?” Zamo checks before Trixie can get the apartment door unlocked. She gives her a noise of confirmation while she wrestles with the awkward key. “Okay. Do you think I should talk to her?”

Trixie finally gets the door unlocked but doesn’t open it, turns to look at Zamo instead. “What about?”

“I’m like, her boss. I don’t want her to be uncomfortable, you know what I mean?”

“I think you sitting her down and talking to her would make her a lot _more_ uncomfortable,” Trixie says. She opens the door and gestures for Zamo to go in ahead of her.

Before she left this morning she hoped that Zamo would come back here this evening, so she tidied up. There are no dishes in the sink and no shoes scattered all over the hallway, and Trixie put all of her makeup back in its pouch instead of leaving it all over the bathroom vanity.

“You want a drink? Snack?”

“Why don’t we get into it and then we can snack after? I can’t bear to look at you like this anymore, it’s so tragic.”

Trixie shrieks a laugh, but she allows herself to be herded towards her own bathroom. She bought all the supplies they’ll need yesterday and they’re still in the plastic CVS bag with a mile-long receipt. Trixie portions out the bleach powder and the developer into a plastic bowl and gives it to Zamo to mix while she changes into an old t-shirt.

In her bedroom, she sits down heavily on the end of the bed and makes the mattress creak. She’s _nervous_ , which is so stupid. It’s not about her hair; she’s done this enough times that she’s comfortable explaining it, and as chaotic as Zamo can be she trusts her to concentrate. It’s just- having Zamo’s fingers in her hair, having her so close to Trixie for such a long time. She’s not sure that she trusts _herself_.

Trixie stands in front of the sink and listens to Zamo snap on the latex gloves she stole from work. She’s so much taller than Zamo is that she can hardly even see her behind herself, but she can hear her muttering and it’s making her shift her weight from foot to foot.

“Oh, my god, stay _still_.” Zamo clicks her tongue and Trixie feels it between her thighs, which really doesn’t help her to stop fidgeting. “You’re too tall, I can’t have this. Can I get a chair?”

“Sure.”

Zamo disappears for a minute — Trixie takes the opportunity to meet her own eyes in the mirror over the sink and try to relax — and she comes back with a chair from Trixie’s kitchen. She’s carrying it in one arm, which is making the muscles and tendons in her bicep bulge, and she’s got a whole roll of trash bags as well. She sets the chair down and puts one of the bags over the back to protect it.

“How messy are you planning to get?” Trixie says.

Zamo looks up at her and huffs a breath to blow her bangs out of her eyes. “Nowhere near as messy as you, you slut. Sit.”

Trixie does, immediately, dropping heavily into the chair with a thud like a river stone. Zamo’s got the bowl of bleach that Trixie’s been mixing and the tinting brush, and she gives them to Trixie to hold while she starts sectioning her hair. It’s therapeutic, almost, to feel Zamo’s fingers moving carefully across her scalp. As much as she teases, she does trust her to do this right.

Her hair does grow in naturally blonde, but she likes it to be a little lighter to make the peach colour really pop. Zamo clips most of Trixie’s hair up on top of her head and starts brushing the bleach on at her nape. She’s so careful, making sure not to get any on her ears, and for a long time they’re quiet. When Zamo’s about halfway finished, Trixie can’t handle it anymore. Her breath is hot against the back of Trixie’s neck and she’s making these tiny noises of concentration and her hands are on her.

“Thanks for helping me with this,” she says just to take the edge off the silence.

“Your whole thing is like. . . an aesthetic vision. Not a very good advertisement for the studio if you’re walking around with grown-out roots, mama.”

Trixie shrieks a laugh and thrashes in the chair. It makes Zamo accidentally swipe some of the bleach mixture onto the back of her neck and she wipes it away quickly, before it gets a chance to burn. Trixie wishes she weren’t wearing gloves, that she could feel Zamo’s skin against hers, but it’s still good just to feel how careful she is. How gentle.

They have to let the bleach sit for twenty minutes. Zamo wraps Trixie’s whole head in saran wrap and then proceeds to chase her, shrieking, around the apartment trying to get a picture. Kim pokes her head out of her bedroom door to scowl at them both. It’s not late, not even ten yet, but Kim’s nighttime routine begins at approximately seven thirty and consists of upwards of two hundred steps, as far as Trixie can tell.

“You look like a Q-Tip,” she says to Trixie, and then, “hey, Zamo. I didn’t know you were here.”

“Tallulah is helpless without me, Kimberly, you know this. Sorry for disturbing you.”

Kim raises an eyebrow, as much as she can beneath the thick green face mask she’s painted on. She does it with a foundation brush she stole from Trixie, so that she can get a precise line, and Trixie loves to smear on a charcoal mask with her fingers just to watch Kim scowl at her.

“It’s cool,” Kim says. “I thought you were. . . never mind. Goodnight, guys.”

The timer Trixie set goes off, so loud that it makes Zamo shriek, and they get stuck in the bathroom doorway both trying to fit through it at the same time. Zamo is a tactile person: she will often hook her arm through Trixie’s while they’re walking around the city, or lean her head against Trixie’s shoulder on the couch. It makes Trixie a little nuts every time, to feel her so close and not be able to touch her the way that she really wants to.

Trixie sits down on the floor with her head hanging over the lip of the bathtub and lets Zamo rinse all of the bleach out of her hair. She shampoos it as well, to make sure they got all of it, and she massages Trixie’s scalp for a little bit. Her eyes are closed, to stop any water running into them, and she tries her best not to moan out loud. It feels so good that it’s turning her body liquid, making her feel loose and lovely. Just once, she opens her eyes to see Zamo’s face hovering right over hers with her tongue poking out in concentration, and has to immediately close them again.

The actual dye has to be applied to dry hair, so Trixie tips her head upside down and rough-dries her hair with the blow dryer. She can see mostly just Zamo’s shins and her bare feet, and she’s dancing around while she waits for Trixie to get done. Every other time Trixie’s needed to re-dye her hair she’s had Kim help her with it, who does _not_ like to dance and would disappear off into her room while they waited for Trixie’s hair to lift, instead of spending that time laughing with her.

Trixie sits back in the chair and lets Zamo get started with the dye. It’s a mixture of two, one orange and one pink and diluted with some conditioner so it’s not too bright. Zamo takes this part even more seriously than the bleaching, sectioning Trixie’s hair and making sure to apply the dye evenly.

“I didn’t know you were capable of focusing on one thing for this amount of time,” Trixie says.

They’ve angled the chair so she can see herself in the mirror and Zamo behind her. She’s pulled her own hair up on top of her head so it doesn’t get in the way and little curls are escaping at her nape and around her ears. “It’s meditative. It’s like when I do yoga. I can be serious sometimes.”

“I’d love to meet that person,” Trixie teases.

Zamo shrieks at that and gives a tiny tug on the section of Trixie’s hair she’s holding, right at the root. It makes Trixie’s mouth drop open, her tongue dry, and she presses her thighs together. She’s in an old pair of pink ringer shorts and a huge t-shirt and she feels suddenly exposed. Her legs are long and much, much bigger than Zamo’s, especially when she’s sitting down.

“How long do we have to wait now?” Zamo whines once she’s done with Trixie’s entire head.

She can’t look at herself in the mirror anymore because it’s absurd, she looks like a swamp creature, and if she allows herself to ruminate on the fact that she’s looking like this in front of Zamo? Denial is her best option right now.

“Forty minutes.”

Zamo makes an anguished noise that she can’t even sustain for more than three seconds before she’s laughing and Trixie’s giggling too. She takes the crocodile clip that Zamo’s waving at her and pins her hair up so it doesn’t stain the back of her neck, and then she herds Zamo out to the living room.

She lets Zamo pick the movie, which she regrets immediately, but it doesn’t really matter. Neither of them is paying it much attention, too busy scrolling through Instagram and tagging each other in the most bizarre posts they can find. The timer goes off and Trixie leaves Zamo on the couch while she goes to take a real shower. She stands beneath the stream of the water and wonders if Zamo is thinking about that, thinking about her. It seems unlikely; she has Violet, even if she doesn’t talk about her all that much. Trixie is very clearly not her type.

Trixie takes her time when she gets out. She uses her favourite leave-in conditioner, the one that smells so good she can’t help but bring the ends of her own hair up to her nose every few minutes. She works cuticle butter into her elbows and knees and heels until she feels soft and gentle and kind towards the whole world.

“Are you happy with it?” Zamo asks her when she comes back to the couch. She’s muted the volume on the television but it’s still playing, bathing one side of Zamo’s face in shifting colours.

Trixie lifts up the ends of her hair to inspect them and wrinkles her nose. “Well it’s not exactly a professional job, but.”

“Oh, you rotted whore.” Zamo kicks her feet out towards Trixie. She’s let her hair down again and the hair tie has left a kink in it so that it’s sitting weirdly and she keeps having to tuck it back behind her ears. “Did I at least do a better job than Kim?”

Her face is so earnest, her eyes huge and round. She’s taken her makeup off while Trixie was in the shower and it isn’t the first time she’s seen her bare face but still, even now, it takes her by surprise a bit. She looks younger and softer. Trixie wants to kiss her cheeks.

“You did a good job. Do you like it?”

“Very pretty, Trixabelle. You’re so-” She doesn’t finish her sentence, and Trixie doesn’t push her on it. It’s very quiet in the living room; there’s muted pop music coming from Kim’s room, but Trixie can hear Zamo’s breathing and her own heartbeat in her ears.

Trixie’s hair begins to curl as it dries and she can’t stop fidgeting, playing with the ends of it and twisting them around and around her fingers. Zamo is watching her with her cheek pillowed against the back of the couch and she’s chewing on her bottom lip.

When the movie’s end credits start rolling it shakes them both out of it a bit. Trixie checks the time on her phone and wrinkles her nose. “It’s late. Do you want to crash here?”

“Oh, um- I don’t know if I should-”

“You can get some sleep and we can all take the subway together in the morning?”

Zamo snorts a laugh at that and draws her legs up until they’re crossed beneath her. “Kim’ll love that.”

“She won’t care. It’s not a big deal, don’t be a baby.”

Now that the idea is out there, Trixie wants Zamo to spend the night more than anything. It’s partly because she really doesn’t like the idea of her taking the subway by herself this late, and partly because she wants to lay on her back in the bed next to her and spill all of her secrets.

“Okay, okay, stop nagging me.” Zamo flaps her hands dismissively, but there’s a smile starting at the very corners of her mouth.

She lets Trixie fuss a bit more, digging her out an old pair of sweats and a tee to sleep in, and a toothbrush still in its packaging from under the sink. Trixie busies herself turning out all of the lights and cleaning the last few dishes from the day while Zamo is in the bathroom. She comes out, drowning in Trixie’s clothes and with her hair in a braid that hangs over one shoulder.

“Go get comfortable, I’ll be there in a minute,” Trixie says, and gestures to her closed bedroom door. She keeps her room neat, and there’s nothing she would want to hide. Not from Zamo.

Kim creeps into the kitchen in her sock feet while Trixie is filling two tall glasses and it startles her, makes her slosh some of the water over her hand and down her wrist. When she shuts off the faucet and turns away from the sink, Kim is watching her with her hip propped against the counter.

“Trixie, she’s seeing someone.”

“I know that,” Trixie says a little too loudly. She darts a glance in the direction of her room but the door doesn’t open.

Kim gives her a very small sigh. It’s full of pity, and it rankles Trixie. “What are you doing?”

“I’m being a good friend.” Trixie has a glass of water in each hand now and she’s glad for it, grateful that she can’t start fidgeting and betray herself. Zamo is waiting for her in her bed. The woman she’s been nurturing a crush on since the day they met.

“You can’t have her,” Kim says very quietly. “I don’t want to see you get hurt. And I also really need to not get caught in the middle if this turns into a _thing_.”

“What thing? There’s no thing. We’re friends.”

For a long moment Kim just studies her with her lips pressed together. They’ve been friends since college, and Kim has seen her get her heart broken a couple of times. She knows it’s coming from a place of love and shared history, that Kim probably doesn’t have it in her to watch Trixie cry into a pint of ice cream again.

“Spending more time with her is not the way to make this go away.” Kim stops staring at Trixie, at least, and turns around to fuss with the kettle and her complicated tea strainer. “She’s a good person. She’s generous with her affection. I don’t want you to read that as something it’s not.”

Embarrassment begins to bloom pink and hot in Trixie’s cheeks, clashing with her hair. It’s not bright enough in the kitchen that Kim can see it, she doesn’t think. “I’m not reading anything, Kimberly. We’re just friends. I know she’s with. . . someone.”

“You can’t even say her name,” Kim says. The gentleness is making everything much worse, making Trixie want to start crying.

She can’t do that. If she thinks about it too much, it’s going to cleave her open, and that can’t happen right now. Not with Zamo in the next room waiting. Trixie says goodnight to Kim and heads to bed, struggles to open the door with her elbow while she’s holding both waters.

Zamo is propped up against the headboard with her glasses on, scrolling through her phone. It stops Trixie in her tracks in the doorway for just a second. She wants this, so much that it aches in her chest. When Zamo looks up and sees her she smiles, bright and enormous, and pats the mattress next to her.

“I apologise in advance, I am not a good person to share a bed with. There’s a lot of thrashing, and some, like, low ghoulish moaning.”

“Oh wow.” Trixie sets a water glass down on Zamo’s nightstand and comes around to put down her own and get into her side of the bed. She isn’t really used to sharing it with anybody and it’s strange, especially that it’s Zamo. “Do I need to call a priest and have the demon expunged from its flesh prison?”

Zamo shimmys her shoulders against the pillows and laughs loud enough that it makes Kim bang on the wall on the other side. “Mama, nothing about my flesh is a prison. You should know, you’ve seen enough of it.”

“I’ve seen way more than I ever needed to,” Trixie says. “You know every time I get nervous that it’s just gonna start sloughing off, you Freddy Krueger-lookin’ bitch.”

Zamo shrieks and then immediately darts a concerned glance at the wall but Kim doesn’t knock again, must have put her headphones in. Trixie feels like a teenager, having a sleepover with her best friend. She’s much less confused about her feelings now, and much more comfortable in her skin. In seventh grade she went from pudgy to curvy and it’d been awful then, to be a head taller than the rest of her class and have tits so huge she couldn’t do anything to hide them. Trixie has grown into herself, has _found her adult body_ , according to Kim, and she feels settled now.

She feels _good_. It’s nice to have Zamo here; already the concept is becoming less and less peculiar. Trixie reaches over to turn out her bedside lamp and the room goes dark. Something about the late hour and the fact that she can’t see Zamo’s face makes her feel exposed, a little unsafe.

“Seriously, if I’m bothering you at any time you have my blanket permission to wake me up or whatever. That’s what Violet does, on the rare occasion she’s in my bed.”

She sounds so sad that Trixie fumbles beneath the sheets until she can squeeze her shoulder. It doesn’t feel like enough so, like an idiot, Trixie says, “How is that all going?”

Zamo makes a small noise, a sort of _hmmff_ , and for a moment Trixie thinks she isn’t going to answer at all, which would suit her just fine. She does, though, and her voice is the softest Trixie has ever heard it.

“They’re okay. We don’t like, see each other a lot, you know? And that used to suit me just fine, but now it’s like. . . I miss her. I don’t know.”

Violet’s a model, Trixie remembers from a throwaway comment Zamo had made a while ago. She travels all over the world for bookings and is only in the city once every few weeks. Trixie doesn’t really understand how Zamo can bear it. When she’s with someone, she’s all in: she wants to see them every day and needs to be close, needs to be held.

“Have you talked to her about that?”

Zamo groans and pulls the pillow out from beneath her head to hold it over her face instead. Trixie’s curled up on her side and she can hardly see her in the textured darkness. Her hair keeps tickling her neck and she brushes it aside, gets a waft of dye-smell as she does. Zamo drops the pillow to her chest instead and wraps both arms around it.

“What would I even say? ‘Hey, Vi, I know we specifically agreed that under no circumstances were either of us allowed to catch feelings but guess what, I need to have my fucking hand held.’”

Trixie opens her mouth to say that she’ll gladly hold Zamo’s hand, but closes it again immediately before any sounds come out. She listens quietly, patiently, as Zamo gives her a brief synopsis of her history with Violet. They’ve been seeing each other for eight months, but they weren’t exclusive for the first four of those and Violet is still hostile towards the idea of them labelling what they have as a relationship.

“I’m not exactly doing great on the relationship front, obviously,” Trixie says, and she’s so grateful for the darkness so that Zamo can’t see how her cheeks are humiliation-pink. She does briefly wonder whether she can feel the heat rolling off of them like Trixie can. “But I think you gotta talk to her about this stuff. The mortifying ordeal of being known, right?”

Zamo makes an anguished noise and rolls over onto her side. It’s so dark, but Trixie can see that her eyes are open. “Oh my god, I know. I really do have to, don’t I?”

“Yeah,” Trixie says with as much empathy as she can muster. It’s not very much. She doesn’t want to help Zamo fix her relationship, doesn’t want her to work things out with Violet. That’s selfish and unkind, but it doesn’t make it less true.

Zamo falls asleep pretty quickly, but Trixie stays awake for a while after, worrying about the morning. It’s been a long, long time since she’s woken up next to someone. Only Kim gets to see her when her hair is flat on one side and she’s got a red crease from the pillow along her face. It’s intimate in a way that she doesn’t feel adequately prepared for, but they both have to go to work so she hopes that’ll be enough of a distraction that Zamo won’t laugh at her too much.

She doesn’t remember falling asleep but she must, because she wakes up to the sound of a thud and a muttered curse. Trixie peels one eye open to see Zamo in the middle of the room, clearly having just stumbled into the dresser. She doesn’t seem to see that Trixie’s awake. She slept in her underwear, a matching set in red cotton. Trixie is intrigued by that, would never have guessed that Zamo would be the type to care.

Last week, the underwire had given out on one of Trixie’s bras again and almost impaled her lung. She’s asked Zamo for recommendations over lunch, and swiftly been informed that Zamo’s usual state of dress is _no bra, no panties bitch_. Trixie had fumbled her excuses in both hands and fled back to Prick to try and chill out a bit before her next client came in. She didn’t think that it was true — Zamo has been shirtless in Trixie’s presence several times — but it’s interesting to see that not only is she clothed, but everything matches and fits perfectly and makes her look like a fucking model.

Trixie lets herself drift lazily in and out of sleep while she waits for her alarm to go off. She can hear Zamo out in the kitchen, and then she comes back in and sets a mug down on Trixie’s nightstand before circling around to climb back into bed. Trixie opens her eyes, for good this time, to see her sitting up against the headboard and scrolling on her phone.

“Good morning,” she says cheerfully, and smiles widely down at Trixie.

She groans and scrubs a hand over her face. “Shh. M’not awake yet.”

“Oh, sorry,” Zamo says in an exaggerated whisper that makes Trixie giggle softly into her pillow.

After a minute or two, she manages to get herself upright and arranges herself against the pillows. Their elbows are not quite touching, but she can feel how warm Zamo is.

“Thanks.” Trixie gestures with her mug in Zamo’s general direction.

“It is truly a hate crime that you don’t keep any coffee in this whole apartment. Do you know about coffee?”

Trixie closes her eyes and holds the mug of tea just beneath her chin to let the steam hit her face. When she opens them again Zamo is watching her, but she looks away quickly.

“Yes, I know about coffee. Neither of us drink it. You want coffee, you can get your own,” Trixie says, even as she makes a mental note to pick some up next time she’s at the grocery store.

Zamo snorts. “Oh wow. Thanks so much for your hospitality.”

“It’s maybe a _little_ soon to start hospice care, wouldn’t you say? I think you’ve still got a couple good years in you.”

“Mama, you don’t wanna know about what I’ve had in me.” Zamo is the first to crack up, the first to start wheezing, but Trixie falls right in along after her. It always feels like she’s tumbling over and over in a rip current, like her graceless feet are up over her head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'd love to chat on [tumblr](https://katiehoughton.tumblr.com/) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/reallybeanie)! i hope you enjoy the easter weekend as much as you're able, if you're celebrating, and that you and your loved ones are keeping safe and well ♡


	5. bouvardia ternifolia.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you as always to the polycule for being wonderful and making my days so joy-filled, i love you all a lot. and [stutter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/stutter), my love, i don't know how i would get anything done without you holding my hand and cheering me on. i am so endlessly proud of you. we are all so lucky to know you, but me the most.

Prick and Nightshade both close for the holiday weekend, and their entire group descends on the Great Lawn. It’s a gorgeous, wide-open cobalt day and the high points of Trixie’s face feel warm and pink. The straps of her backpack are cutting into her shoulders with all of the picnic food inside weighing it down. Pearl is carrying a portable speaker in both arms like an infant, Monét has a bunch of blankets, and Zamo is walking backwards along the sidewalk ahead of everybody like an overly enthusiastic youth leader. Trixie’s quietly thankful she doesn't have a whistle.

They’re going to meet Kim and her friend Naomi at the park entrance, with more food and a glove, bat and ball for if they want to play softball later on. Tatianna has been at the park for a while already, scoping out the best spot for them to set up and sending updates to their group chat every five minutes.

Trixie can smell her own sunscreen on her skin and her miniskirt is riding up her thighs as she walks. Her feet feel uncomfortably hot in her white sneakers and she’s excited to take them off as soon as they get settled on the lawn. She and Kim gave each other pedicures last night and very deliberately talked about everything except Zamo. It had been uncomfortable, and Trixie hates feeling that way with Kim, but at least her toes are pink and shiny now.

When they get to the park entrance, Zamo hangs back a little ways to let everybody else go ahead, and once they’re alone she hooks her elbow through Trixie’s. She smells good today, like grass and lotion, and she leans in close and says, “Hello hi. Are you okay?”

“Yeah!” Trixie says immediately. Her voice comes out plasticky and insincere, like it’d be hollow if she tapped her fingernails against it. Zamo waits a beat, and Trixie says more quietly, “Yes. I’m okay. I slept weird.”

It isn’t a lie. She’s been sleeping weird — really, not sleeping at all — since Zamo dyed her hair for her. Since they slept in the same bed. Hers feels curiously empty now and she can’t ever seem to get comfortable without another body to orient herself around. Zamo doesn’t push her on it, just stays right there at her side, their arms linked, as they catch up to everybody else.

Trixie gets the sense that Tatianna has been patrolling the perimeter of their territory all day like a particularly tenacious dog, from the way the other people out on the lawn are giving her such a wide berth. She beams when she sees them all approaching, and she and Kim immediately begin orchestrating the setup of the blankets. Usually Trixie would involve herself, but she’s happy to hang out on the periphery, Zamo vibrating with pleasure next to her.

Everybody gets settled and begins unpacking the food and the cans of seltzer and soda from the cooler Naomi brought. Pearl has made a playlist specifically for today, and Monét is leaning over her shoulder to look at her phone and see the rest of the tracks on there. Trixie hurries out of her sneakers and stretches her legs out across the blanket, supporting her weight on her elbows so she’s almost upright. It feels so good to have the sunlight on her skin and she closes her eyes and tips her face towards the sky, enjoying the way the ends of her hair drift over her bare arms.

Zamo settles herself cross-legged right next to Trixie and munches cheerfully on the crudités Trixie prepared this morning. She took a chunk out of her thumb trying to slice a particularly stubborn carrot. When Zamo saw the pink, daisy-covered Band-aid earlier today she gasped and snatched Trixie’s hand, littered kisses all over it. There are still a few smudgy red prints that Trixie doesn’t want to scrub away.

“Tati!” Zamo says loudly, once everybody has glutted themselves and they’re surrounded by empty Tupperware containers. Tatianna looks up, and Zamo says, “Handspring contest?”

They trip over themselves getting up from the blankets and out of their shoes. Zamo kicks her jelly sandals towards Trixie and she snags one of them right out of the air, finds herself unable to let go of it. She holds it in her lap, feeling how the plastic has gotten warm and more malleable from Zamo’s skin, while she watches the two of them flipping around in the grass.

Monét gets up to join in as well, and the three of them laugh wildly. Zamo is a much better gymnast than the other two. Several other groups nearby turn to watch her tumbling, and some guys start whistling and hollering at her. Trixie feels prickly and overprotective, but Zamo is laughing and she makes a show of her next go around, adding an aerial cartwheel into the middle. She’s wearing tiny shorts today and Trixie can’t stop watching how the muscles in her thighs ripple.

After a little while, Zamo strips her sleeveless blouse off over her head so she’s just in her sports bra. It’s navy today, and the band of it beheads the snake tattooed along her sternum. Trixie turns her head immediately, to look at literally anything else, and sees Kim watching her with one perfect eyebrow arched. She’s grateful for her sunglasses, and for the heat of the day. Hopefully no one else will notice how fiercely she’s blushing.

When Zamo and Tatianna have exhausted themselves and Monét has almost snapped her neck trying to do a cartwheel, everybody settles back down onto the blankets. Zamo puts her blouse back on and stretches out perpendicular across the blanket, her head pillowed against Trixie’s thighs and her arm thrown over her face. She doesn’t have sunglasses with her and she’s been grumbly about it all afternoon.

“I’m so sorry, I am _so_ sweaty,” Zamo says, and makes absolutely no indication that she’s going to move. Trixie stays very still, afraid to shift at all, afraid to spook her. When Zamo drops her arm, Trixie angles her own hand above her to shade her eyes and Zamo makes a rumbling, contented little noise.

When Pearl had been putting the playlist together she’d asked people for any specific requests they might have. Dolly starts blaring from the speaker and Monét launches the softball in Trixie’s direction and says, “Trixie Mattel, you backwoods ho!”

“How do you know it’s my pick?” Trixie says shrilly, and everybody else erupts in a cacophony of yelling. Zamo sits up from Trixie’s thighs and leans in to hide her laughing face against Trixie’s shoulder. Her forehead is sweat-slick and her bangs are sticking to her skin. The tops of her shoulders are getting burned. Trixie starts rummaging in her backpack for the sunscreen to make her put it on.

“Hey Trixie,” Naomi says. She’s got her ridiculous legs stretched out over two blankets and she’s holding an unopened can of seltzer against the side of her neck to try and cool off a little. “Kim said you’re a good singer.”

“She _did_?” Trixie says, right as Kim yells, “Shut up, shut up, don’t _tell her_!”

Naomi cackles with her head thrown back. Trixie, triumphant, pulls the sunscreen bottle out of her bag and starts applying it to Zamo’s shoulders. It’s easier than trying to persuade her to do it herself, and she likes the way Zamo’s face goes soft and she leans in to Trixie’s touch.

“You should’ve brought your guitar,” Monét says.

Trixie wrinkles her nose. “Ew. I’m not trying to be _that girl_. That is not it.”

Zamo starts singing along to “The House of the Rising Sun” — Trixie is staggered that she knows the words — and Monét, Pearl and Tati join in immediately to try to drown her out. They’re being obnoxiously loud and Trixie feels kind of bad about it. When she starts singing it’s softer, and she doesn’t even realise that everybody has gone quiet to listen until she gets to the end.

“Your voice is so pretty!” Zamo tells her brightly.

She hooks her arm around Trixie’s neck and squeezes her for a second. Tatianna is saying something about that being a huge compliment, coming from Zamo, but Trixie’s not really listening. Smelling her own lotion on Zamo’s skin, and the warmth of the day and grass and leftover cologne, is making Trixie’s heart feel malleable and soft as taffy. It’s so close to what she wants, and it’s not nearly enough.

When Zamo pulls back from their half hug, she points an accusatory finger at Trixie and says, “Hey! I got a question for you.”

Trixie lays her palm flat against the base of her throat and glances either side of herself, gets an eye roll from Kim. “For _me_?”

“Yes!” Zamo scoots back a little further away from Trixie like she’s trying to take her in. “Why are you blank?”

“Blank,” Trixie repeats.

Most of their friends have lost interest in their conversation already, but Pearl is sitting close to them, her folded arms resting on the speaker and her chin propped on top. When Trixie looks to her for clarification, she lifts one shoulder in a lazy half-shrug.

“Uh-huh. You don’t have one single tattoo? I don’t know of any other artist who doesn’t have _any_. Like, hello, hi, look at me.” Trixie does, letting her gaze linger on Zamo’s exposed stomach and arms, all the delicate linework Trixie put there. “Don’t you think if we asked any one of these wonderful people here with us in the park today to guess which of us is the tattoo artist and which of us is the florist-” She cuts herself off and gestures between the two of them, then turns to look helplessly at Pearl.

It’s not like it isn’t true. Pearl has a floral half sleeve and a smaller piece just below her breasts, and Raja has so many that Trixie’s lost count. She doesn’t fit in, not even at her own store.

“There’s not like- there’re no, like, rules about it.” Trixie huffs a little sigh and Zamo takes her hand.

“You’re perfect as you are, Trixabelle,” Zamo says softly. “Are we fighting?”

“Shut up, no. Of course not.”

“Good!” Zamo brightens. “I’m like a walking advertisement for you. I like it.”

Her phone starts ringing and makes them both jolt. She’s characteristically slow to find it, humming along to the ringer as she rummages through her backpack. When she gets it free and sees the caller ID display her spine straightens and she gets up quickly, moves a few paces away from their group as she brings the phone to her ear. Trixie nudges her way into the conversation Monét and Naomi are having so she doesn’t just sit here and try not to eavesdrop on Zamo.

They’re at the south end of the lawn, and Zamo crosses the Oval to the Quiet Lawn. Trixie is too far away now to hear what she’s saying, but she looks agitated, fidgety. She keeps raking an aggressive hand through her hair over and over. Trixie really tries to listen to her friends, but when Zamo starts heading back towards them she gets up mid-sentence and strides to meet her.

“Everything alright?”

Zamo nods a couple times, says, “Yes. Yeah. I gotta leave immediately. Violet’s here.”

It goes through Trixie like cold water, and she has to put her hands on her hips so she doesn’t clench them into fists instead. “In the city?”

“Uh-huh. She’s at my apartment.”

“You’re not at your apartment,” Trixie blurts, like an idiot.

Zamo laughs, but there’s no humour in it. Things are rocky with Violet, Trixie knows that. Zamo seems exhausted, fatigued in a way that suggests she just got reamed out. “Very astute observation, Trixie. She’s just- I gotta go.”

She stoops to grab her backpack and slings it up onto one shoulder, hurries through her goodbyes to everybody else. Once she’s gone, Trixie drops heavily to sit on one of the blankets. Monét duck walks over to her and squeezes her shoulder. Her face is humiliation-pink and she turns her head away from Monét, tries not to shrug out from beneath her hand.

The next few days are quiet. Trixie sees Zamo in the mornings when they open up their stores, and at lunch, but she leaves work early two days in a row and then the day after that she takes a personal day and Trixie doesn’t get to see her at all. Her texts are sporadic. Trixie finds herself replying immediately to every message and then waiting hours at a time for Zamo to even read it.

She’s trying to fix things with Violet. Trixie keeps herself busy in the evenings. She cooks dinner three nights in a row, watches movies with Kim, goes to a show at Barracuda with Tatianna. Zamo has been even quieter than usual online, barely tweeting and only posting once to her Instagram story. It’d been a photograph of Violet, across the table at dinner, her head angled so that the dim lighting in the restaurant made her cheekbone look even more severe. Trixie’s eyes had filled with hot, frustrated tears and she’d had to put her phone down for the rest of the evening. She’s gotten more flash designs finished this week than she can remember ever having done before.

Six days in, Trixie gets home from an after-hours appointment and when she opens her bedroom door it smells like Nightshade. It happens sometimes in the apartment if Kim brings some poor ailing plant home with her or a floral arrangement made from pilfered offcuts, but Trixie’s room usually just smells like the peach candle she keeps on her dresser.

It takes her a second to figure it out, but when she does she yells out loud. She doesn’t think it through before she presses the button for FaceTime. She’d usually send a courtesy text to make sure it’s a good time and, with Zamo, to make sure she’s clothed. It’s just that she’s so excited that she feels like a little kid, like she’s about to start careening around the apartment.

The call connects. Zamo’s face is filling a good portion of the screen, but behind her Trixie can see the unmistakably long and pale and svelte form of Violet fuckin’ Chachki. She’s standing up, wearing some kind of alarming lingerie that Trixie wouldn’t even know where to begin if she had to put it on herself.

“Oh cool, you picked up,” Violet says, and stalks out of the room.

Trixie can’t recognise anything in the background, so she figures Zamo must be at Violet’s place right now. “I am so sorry, I should’ve checked you weren’t busy.”

“I’m not,” Zamo says cheerfully. “I wouldn’t have picked up if I didn’t want to talk to you. What’s up?”

She’s stretched out on her front with her chin propped in one hand, and over her head Trixie can see her swinging her feet. She’s wearing more makeup than usual, enormous lashes and tiny silver jewels glued beneath her eyes. Trixie has the sick, sinking feeling that she’s interrupted date night.

Well. Zamo is the one who picked up. Trixie presses the button to turn the camera view around and focuses it on her shelf and the plant that’s trailing there. Since Zamo helped her repot it and gave her very strict instructions to adhere to on when to water it, it has started to flourish. Trixie’s been sending spiteful snapchats to Monét, to prove that she has successfully kept it alive.

“It’s flowering,” Trixie says, and is a little alarmed by how soft and awestruck her voice is.

On the other end of the line, Zamo shrieks. She’s so close to the camera that Trixie can see all the way into her mouth and the wet pink of her tongue. “Oh my god, look at that! It looks so great, Trix. It’s really thriving.”

Trixie knows that Zamo sees plants all day every day, and seeing some tiny white flowers surely can’t be all that exciting for her, but she sounds genuinely enthusiastic. She has Trixie move the phone a bit closer and show her more angles, and she keeps making these soft little noises of approval.

Once she’s depleted her supply of compliments to give Trixie she goes quiet, and her eyes cut to someplace out of frame. Trixie swallows, and says, “Hey. I’m sorry. I really didn’t mean to interrupt your evening.”

“That’s okay. It was. . . not going good.” Zamo wrinkles her nose, and looks back at Trixie. She smiles, and the way her face scrunches makes one of the gems beneath her eye come loose. “I should go find her.”

“Okay,” Trixie says easily. She reaches for one of her pillows and wraps her free arm around it, holds it against her chest.

Zamo opens her mouth, closes it again, looks at Trixie, eventually says, “I’m really glad you stuck with it, Trix. Wasn’t it worth it in the end?”

“It was,” Trixie agrees. She looks at the plant again, the tiny white star-shaped flowers cascading off the side of her shelf. It’s the first time she’s ever really nurtured anything, practiced patience.

They say their goodbyes and Trixie tosses her phone to the end of her bed and rolls onto her back. She stays that way until Kim comes to check on her before bed, and then she heaves herself up and goes to brush her teeth.

* * *

Trixie has a day off, and she made sure to turn off her alarm, so when she jerks awake to an unpleasantly shrill sound she feels disoriented and clumsy and she’s out of bed before she’s all the way awake. She swipes to answer the call without looking.

“Mm. Hi?” she says into her phone.

It’s Kim. She sounds too calm, like she’s making a careful effort. Trixie straightens her spine and pads for the kitchen and a glass of water, as Kim says, “Hey, Trix. Sorry for waking you up. Everything’s fine. Everybody’s fine. The store got robbed. Everyone is _fine_.”

“Kim!” Trixie says loudly.

She hefts herself up to sit on the kitchen countertop, the hard edge cutting into the backs of her bare thighs, and she drinks a pint of cold water slowly while Kim talks her through what happened. Even though Kim keeps punctuating every sentence with the refrain that everybody is okay, Trixie still feels leaden with panic. She can hear chaos in the background, catches snippets of Katya and Raja and Jinkx talking, but it doesn’t help much.

Trixie stays on the phone with Kim until she gets onto the subway and loses the connection. She dressed hurriedly, one-handed, and she busies herself on the train putting on a little concealer and blush and braiding her hair. It’s mostly to keep herself from pacing the length of the train car, she feels so full up still with frantic energy.

When Trixie gets there, there are a couple uniformed police officers milling around who don’t seem to be doing much of anything useful. Jinkx and Kim are talking with a detective, an older woman who’s listening intently and taking notes. And Katya is standing in the centre of everything with her arms folded over her chest, staring at the shattered front window of Nightshade.

“Zamo!” Trixie cries out.

Way more despair leaches into her voice than she means to allow, but she can’t help it. All the adrenaline is draining out of her now that she’s here and she can see that nobody’s hurt, and it’s making her knees feel watery, like she might fall down. She hurries to Katya instead and throws her arms around her, holds tight in case she tries to wriggle free. She doesn’t. In fact, she hides her face against Trixie’s neck and lets out a shaky breath. Trixie brings one hand up to cradle the back of her head, and strokes over Katya’s shoulders and back with the other.

“Are you okay?” Trixie asks when they break apart a little.

“About this, or in general?” Katya steps out of Trixie’s arms and jams her hands into her back pockets, her shoulders up around her ears. “I’m fine. This is a lot of drama, and for what reason?”

Trixie stares at her for a second and then shakes her head. “This was a robbery. You were robbed.”

“I wasn’t _robbed_ ,” Katya says, and grimaces. “They didn’t even take anything. Just smashed things up a bit. Broke my register trying to open the cash drawer.”

It’s frustrating to hear her be so flippant about it, even though Trixie knows that that’s how she copes. There’s police tape up across the front of the store, and glass shards littering the sidewalk waiting to be swept. There are cops on either corner diverting pedestrians to the other side of the street, and several tourists are standing gawking at the scene. Trixie has a strange desire to stand behind Katya and shield her from them.

The detective comes over to ask Trixie a couple questions: did she see anything, has she noticed anyone suspicious hanging around lately, does Prick have street-facing security cameras. She has to answer _no_ to all of the above and she hates that she can’t be more useful. Katya is sticking close, seems unwilling to move away from Trixie’s side at all, and she hopes that she can at least be useful to her friend if not to the investigation.

“Zamo,” Jinkx says. “I think they took Gurbil.”

“ _Who_?” Trixie says, at the same time as Katya gasps loudly and presses her palm flat against her chest in distress.

Jinkx explains that Gurbil is their prize fiddle leaf fig, the one Katya nurtured back to health when all of its leaves were brown and shrivelling. She has, apparently, spent countless hours sitting on the floor with her fingers in Gurbil’s soil, trying to commune with him.

“Someone stole a tree,” Trixie says flatly. She knows that houseplants aren’t cheap, but that just seems like a totally unnecessary risk to take.

The detective in charge takes a few more notes, tells them that someone carrying a tree through the Upper West Side in the early hours of the morning is at least pretty conspicuous, and will hopefully mean more people might have noticed something amiss. While the cop is talking, Katya shifts a little closer to Trixie’s side and takes her hand, squeezes so hard it’s just on the wrong side of painful.

After the police are done dusting everything inside for prints, and Jinkx is on the phone with somebody to see about repairing the window, Trixie invites her and Katya and Kim all inside Prick. They’re supposed to open in a half hour, but she checks the computer and they don’t have any appointments until after lunch today so she locks the door behind everybody and leaves the lights off.

“Are you guys all okay?” she asks. “Nobody’s hurt?”

Kim rolls her eyes and glances up from her phone for two seconds. “Trixie none of us were there when it happened, how could we be hurt?”

“I don’t know!”

She can feel herself teetering on the very edge of panic, still. She knows it’s fine, they’re all okay, but she can’t stop thinking _what if what if what if_. She likes Jinkx very much, Kim is her roommate and one of her oldest friends, and Katya-

She can’t think about that.

“I can’t leave you unsupervised for a week?” she says, much more calmly.

“Shut _up_!” Katya squawks at her. She’s sitting on one of the high stools at the counter and she holds out her hand. Trixie takes it and allows herself to be reeled in, allows Katya to loop her arm around her waist, instead. “Really. Everybody’s okay. The insurance will cover the new window. And I’m kind of living for the theater of it all.”

“But Gurbil,” Trixie says very softly.

She really didn’t want anybody else to hear, but Kim snorts right behind her. Trixie doesn’t turn around, doesn’t dignify it with a response at all. Katya is leaning most of her weight against Trixie now, her head heavy against Trixie’s shoulder. She says, “It’s okay. It’s just a plant, Trixabelle. All of the people I love are safe.”

Her voice is quieter than usual, less animated. They’re alone at the counter now; Raja ducked out to pick up beverages for everyone and — Trixie’s pretty sure — call her wife and tell her what’s happened. Jinkx and Kim are in the break room, Jinkx on the phone with the insurance company now and Kim offering moral support.

They’re alone together. Trixie brushes her hair out of her face and leans down to kiss the top of her head. Katya makes a surprised, happy little noise and wriggles on her high stool, and her arm tightens around Trixie’s waist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm always around on [tumblr](https://katiehoughton.tumblr.com/) and [twitter](https://twitter.com/reallybeanie) if you want to chat! i hope you're all safe and well ♡


	6. protea cynaroides.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks as always to the polycule for being so supportive, i treasure all of you. and [stutter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/stutter)! i can't ever thank you enough, for everything you do for me. thank you for being a wonderful beta, and an even more wonderful friend. i love you.
> 
> this chapter has some depiction of anxiety and panic attacks. tread carefully if that's a sensitive topic for you!

The first time it happens, Trixie misses it entirely. She wakes up with her alarm, to a text from Katya sent several hours earlier. It says _you awake?_ and it’s time-stamped just after three in the morning. Trixie texts back right away, feeling horrible for not having been there. Katya tells her she’s fine, it’s nothing, but Trixie stops putting her phone on Do Not Disturb while she’s sleeping. The next time, a couple nights later, the message tone wakes Trixie and she’s able to text right back.

_im here! whats going on?_

The message bubble appears, vanishes, reappears. Trixie tucks her nails inside the plastic edge of her phone case and squints at her screen with one eye open, feeling groggy and a little disoriented. When it starts ringing it startles her and she presses one hand to her chest, fishes in the nightstand drawer for her AirPods with the other.

She puts them in and rolls onto her back, says, “Zamo. Hey. You okay?”

“Hello, Trixabelle.” Katya’s voice sounds artificially cheerful, like a children’s entertainer or an animatronic. “Do you have any experience with anxiety?”

Trixie snorts. She’s trying to keep her voice low, aware of Kim on the other side of the wall, and she says, “I have heard of it, yes. Obviously I don’t have any firsthand experience myself, but-”

“Right, because you are the very picture of mental wellness and resilience,” Katya says, and Trixie turns her head to try to muffle her banshee wail in the pillow. “Anyway.” There’s a long pause. Trixie fists a hand in her sheets and tucks it beneath her chin, listens to Katya breathing slowly, before she says, “I’m just. . . I keep thinking, what if they come back to finish the job. What if someone gets hurt this time.”

“Oh, honey, no,” Trixie finds herself saying. She gets out of bed and pulls on her robe, pads through to the kitchen with it billowing behind her like the ghost in a Victorian novel. “I don’t think that’ll happen. Didn’t the detective say it’s super rare to get hit twice?”

“Uh-huh.” Katya sounds very young and frightened. Trixie props her shoulder against the side of the refrigerator and leans her head against it too, closes her eyes again.

She listens to Katya talk herself down, letting her brain spiral through every conceivable scenario, and she does her best to gently dismantle each one. If she weren’t in an entirely different borough, Trixie would just go over to Katya’s place and hold her hand or stroke her hair until she’s calm enough to sleep.

It’s not possible. The best she can do is show up a little earlier the next morning so she can grab coffee for Katya before they have to open, and linger when she presses it into her waiting hands. She’s wearing more makeup than usual, but it can’t quite hide how hollowed-out she looks.

“You know, I really wasn’t expecting to be up all night tormented by real and actual Chernabog,” Trixie says.

Katya snorts into her coffee and lifts her eyes to Trixie’s face. “I didn’t know you were familiar with Slavic mythology, Tracy.”

“I’m not,” Trixie says. Her own travel cup of herbal tea is uncomfortably hot to hold and she switches it to her other hand. “I’m referring to that super stacked dude from _Fantasia_.”

Katya hums thoughtfully and takes another slow sip of her coffee. Her hair looks unruly today, like she hasn’t brushed it, and her curls are haloed around her head and luminescent with the peachy light of the morning. She says, “I’d like to date somebody like that.”

“Oh sure,” Trixie laughs. “That makes a lot of sense, there are a lot of similarities between him and Violet.”

Katya makes a tiny noise, a little grunt, and she wrinkles her nose. It has crossed Trixie’s mind that she’s the one Katya reached out to in the middle of the night, not her girlfriend. It’s possible she might’ve sent a mass text to everyone she knows, but Trixie is allowing herself the small luxury of believing that isn’t true.

“Thank you for the coffee.” Katya gestures at her with the cup. “And for allowing me to haunt your nightmares.”

“You bear a more-than-passing resemblance to my sleep paralysis demon, so it was no big deal.” Trixie schools her face and lifts one shoulder in a shrug, manages to hold it together until Katya cracks and her laugh jackknifes out of her, slices open the morning. Trixie waits for her to settle down again, and she says, “Really, Zamo. Whatever you need. No matter what time.”

Katya takes a moment to let that sit. She’s looking down at her own feet in their Birkenstocks and her lashes are long and lovely. When she lifts her eyes to Trixie again they’re bright and glassy and she nods a couple times, says, “Thank you, Trixie.”

It happens a few more times after that. Trixie learns to redirect Katya’s attention, get her talking about something else so she isn’t so focused on her fear. It’s kind of nice, to sit with her knees drawn up to her chest and listen to Katya talk about her current hyperfixations. She’s always exhausted the next day, but she’s buoyed by the pleasure of being the person Katya’s chosen to lean on. In the middle of the night, if she closes her eyes, she can almost convince herself that Katya’s beside her in bed.

After a handful of weeks, it seems like Katya is back to normal. It’s been eight days since she’s called after midnight. Trixie can feel it, thankful for the proper rest and the glow back in her skin.

They had a walk-in for a piercing a little earlier today — Pearl is handling it — and Trixie is busying herself going over some of their invoices for the last month. She’s already snapped a pencil drumming it too aggressively against the counter, and her reading glasses are making her face ache across the bridge of her nose.

“Trixie!”

Her head snaps up. Kim is leaning just her upper body through the door frame. She just changed her hair, it’s purple now, and it takes Trixie by surprise every time she sees her. “Hey. You good?”

“Can we borrow you for a minute?” Kim’s already disappearing again, headed back to Nightshade.

Trixie lets Pearl know that she’s headed next door and follows Kim right over. She stops her in front of the door to the back room, and says, “She asked for you. A customer really reamed her out because he bought an anthurium for his girlfriend and it died. Told her he was going to do whatever he could to ruin her business, that he’d find out her home address.”

“What is _wrong_ with people?”

“It was scary. He was like, spitting. And she’s- well.” Kim frowns. “I didn’t know what to do.”

Trixie squeezes Kim’s bicep and gives her a small smile. “I got it. Thanks for coming to get me.”

Inside the tiny, cramped space, Katya is sitting on the floor with her head tipped back against the wall. She doesn’t react to Trixie, doesn’t acknowledge her at all. Her breath is coming in tight little gasps and she’s trembling. Trixie kneels down on the ground and shuffles as close as she dares.

“I’m gonna touch your hands, okay honey?” she says. They’re limp and clammy, when Trixie takes them in hers. She laces their fingers together and squeezes gently. “I’m right here. I won’t leave you.” Katya’s eyes open, but they’re unfocused and fixed on a point way left of Trixie’s shoulder. “Can you breathe with me?”

Trixie measures her breathing, counts each breath in and out in her quietest, calmest voice until Katya’s own breathing starts to level out along with her. Eventually she lifts her head away from the wall and looks at Trixie, and then seems to get stuck there. Her gaze doesn’t move from Trixie’s face, and Trixie looks steadily back at her.

They walk through some grounding exercises together. Trixie has Katya check in with each of her senses one at a time. She’s been up late into the night researching what to do, how to help Katya if it ever gets really bad, and it does seem to be working. Some of the colour is coming back into her cheeks. Trixie yells for Kim to please go grab a bottled water from Prick’s minifridge, and when she comes back with it Katya drinks half of it down in slow sips.

“Do you want me to call Violet?” Trixie asks, once Katya has screwed the lid back onto the bottle and let it drop onto the floor next to her.

“No!” Katya says sharply, and then softer, “I’m good. I just need you.”

“You’ve got me,” Trixie tells her.

Katya seems a little more alert now. She lifts her body away from the wall and folds her legs beneath herself, rakes a clumsy hand through her hair, says, “You’re wearing your glasses.”

“Shut up!” Trixie says. “I look like a librarian, I know.”

“There’s a reason a lot of people have librarian fantasies, Trixabelle. You look very good.”

Trixie feels her face get hot, and gets up from the floor to try to disguise it. Katya follows her up, unsteady on her feet like she’s freshly earthside. She braces herself on Trixie’s forearm until she gets her balance again.

“I gotta go,” Trixie tells her. “I left Pearl alone with no one at the front desk.”

“Right, right. Yeah. Go.” Katya flaps her hands in the direction of the door.

Trixie lingers for a moment, just studying her. She seems wobbly, but alright. “I’m right next door,” Trixie says uselessly. “Come get me if you need me.”

The rest of the afternoon, Trixie is distracted and no use to anybody. Pearl sends her to go wash down the facade of the studio, and at least then she can peek into Nightshade and see for herself that Katya is alright. She’s sitting at one of the high stools at the prep table, one leg crossed over the other and her foot bobbing in the air so her Birkenstock dangles precariously from just her toes. Katya and Kim are laughing together, noiseless through the heavy front door and the brand-new reinforced window. Trixie dunks both arms into her bucket of suds up to the elbows and wrings out her sponge, focuses herself on a small, simple task.

When Nightshade closes, Katya comes over with an iced tea for Trixie and coffee for Pearl. She seems fatigued still, like she snaps back into herself whenever somebody asks her a direct question and the rest of the time she’s floating untethered around the room like a child’s balloon.

“Trix,” she says, and pouts at her. “Won’t you please come take care of me?”

“You know, I do have some brochures for some _really_ nice assisted living facilities, if you feel like you need help,” Trixie says sweetly.

It makes Katya wheeze and shake her fists in the air. Pearl rolls her eyes at them and goes to fetch their equipment from the autoclave. Katya steps in close to Trixie and winds her arms around her waist, tucks herself beneath Trixie’s chin.

“Please?” she says very quietly.

Trixie lets herself return the hug, and she says, “Yes. Yeah, of course.”

At Katya’s place, Trixie orders takeout for them both and makes sure that Katya eats at least half of hers, then lets her fall asleep curled up on the couch with her head pillowed against Trixie’s thigh in front of a movie from forty years ago that Trixie doesn’t understand.

* * *

“Hey, Trixie.”

Katya’s voice startles Trixie and her head snaps up from the computer screen. This morning when she opened up she saw Jinkx, and she knows Kim is working today too, but she got a text from Katya less than an hour ago that she was hanging out with Violet today.

It’s taken Trixie that long to shake her bad mood, and the last of it sloughs off of her now at the sight of Katya leaning in the doorway. “Zamo, hey! What’s going on?”

She gets that tiny crease between her eyebrows, and Trixie watches her throat jump when she swallows. “I’m okay, everything’s okay, just- can you come over tonight? Once you’re done.”

“Sure. You want me to bring anything?”

“Ice cream?”

Katya sounds exhausted, and Trixie feels grief like a stone heavy in the pit of her stomach. She wants to come around the counter and hug her, but Katya looks brittle and Trixie’s worried she’ll crack if she acknowledges that something isn’t right.

“I’ll text you when I leave. And I’ll bring ice cream.”

There’s only another hour or so until Prick closes, but Trixie is distracted the entire time. Raja does most of the end of day processes while Trixie stares into space, and she only gets up when Raja nudges her with her elbow.

She picks up three different kinds of ice cream from the convenience store on the corner because she’s not sure which one Katya will want. The bag is heavy and the paper handles cut into the meat of her palm as she walks the few blocks to Katya’s apartment.

Katya buzzes her in and has the door open when Trixie makes it up the three flights of stairs. She’s standing with her hip against the doorframe and her arms folded, and she’s taken her makeup off. Trixie hurries to close the distance between them, but Katya steps inside the apartment before Trixie can hug her.

“I got a bunch of kinds.” Trixie offers the bag to Katya. She takes it, but she doesn’t look inside, just holds it in both hands like she’s not quite sure what she should do with it. “Zamo? What’s wrong?”

Katya clears her throat and a tiny, distressed noise escapes her. “Violet’s going on some like- it doesn’t even make any sense to me. She’s going to Europe, for a long time. We broke up.”

“Oh, honey. Come here.”

Trixie opens her arms and Katya steps into them. She tucks herself beneath Trixie’s chin, the ice cream trapped between their bodies. Trixie rocks them both from side to side, grateful for the opportunity to baby Katya just a little bit. She knows it’s not going to last.

After a minute or so, Katya untangles herself from Trixie’s arms. She puts the ice cream away in the freezer and heads for the couch. Trixie follows her because she doesn’t know what else to do. When Trixie sits, Katya shunts herself across the cushion until she can rest her head against Trixie’s shoulder.

“Are you okay? Do you wanna talk it out?”

Katya makes a noncommittal noise. “I feel like I’m more okay than I should be. It’s like, I’ve known for a while that things haven’t been good, you know what I mean?”

“Of course. It can be almost a relief.”

“ _Yes_!” Katya sits up for just a second to look at Trixie. “Yes, that’s exactly it. I was hiding in my relationship with Violet. I guess I liked that I didn’t have to commit to her, and being with her meant I didn’t have to commit to anybody else, either.”

Trixie tilts her head. “That’s an incredibly cogent and mature self-analysis. Did you get body-snatched?”

“My body _is_ snatched, mama.” Katya fans herself with one hand and Trixie wheezes and grabs her wrist to shake it around. Katya stops laughing, and when Trixie lets go of her wrist she takes her hand. “Therapy can lead to personal growth. Who knew?”

“Freud?” Trixie offers. “I know you wanna fuck your dad, girl.”

Katya flops dramatically backwards against the arm of the couch and kicks her feet, wheezing so hard that it makes her start coughing. If Kim were here, or Jinkx or really anybody else, Trixie knows they would think that the two of them are insane. There’s an intimacy the two of them share, and Trixie is grateful for it tonight. It means she knows exactly what Katya needs from her: to be allowed to laugh, and not forced into sentimentality.

“You’re so rotted, you’re a worthless human being,” Katya tells her when she gets her breath back, but she’s still grinning. Her eyes look enormous without any mascara or liner, and there’s a little patch above her left eyebrow where her skin is dry and starting to flake.

Trixie gets up from the couch so she doesn’t do something stupid, and heads for the refrigerator and the ice cream. Katya requests one scoop of each flavour and Trixie takes her time, presses her freezing fingertips either side of her neck once she’s finished. Her pulse is hot and insistent in the base of her throat.

Katya has swivelled around to sit cross-legged on the couch and Trixie puts the bowl right into her hands. She does a contented little wiggle and puts a huge spoonful into her mouth right away.

“Is there anything else you need?” Trixie says, quietly enough that Katya could pretend not to hear her if she wanted.

She doesn’t. Instead, she swallows her mouthful and points her spoon at Trixie. A drop of ice cream drips off of it and onto Trixie’s bare leg. “Will you stay here tonight? I don’t really wanna be on my own.”

“As long as you promise not to kill me in my sleep.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” Katya wriggles her eyebrows. “I like to watch them struggle.”

Trixie feigns horror and shifts away until she’s pressed against the arm of the couch. It makes Katya laugh loudly and then her mouth stretches into a maniacal grin, showing all of her teeth.

They watch a movie — Trixie lets Katya choose — and snuggle up together underneath the blanket from the end of Katya’s bed. Katya gets heavier and heavier against Trixie’s side as the movie goes on. Her hands go slack, and Trixie has to rescue the empty bowl from them before it clatters onto the floor. While Katya is sleeping, Trixie takes the opportunity to stroke her fingers through the ends of her hair a few times. She’s making these soft little snuffling noises that are so cute Trixie isn’t paying any attention to the movie at all, just watching her.

When the credits start rolling the music is so loud that Katya wakes up with a jolt and clutches at Trixie’s hand. Trixie gives her a moment to come back to herself and reaches for the remote to shut off the television. The quiet balloons outward to fill the apartment, and Katya scrapes a rough hand over her own face.

“I didn’t know you could sleep if you weren’t hanging upside down,” Trixie says softly, but she allows a smile to tug at the corners of her mouth just a little bit.

Katya makes a disgruntled noise and flops forward to hide her face against Trixie’s shoulder. “I hate you. What time is it?”

“It’s almost eleven.”

“Can we just get into bed?” Katya groans. “I’m so fuckin’ tired.”

Trixie agrees, of course. She folds the blanket neatly and puts it back on the foot of the bed, washes out Katya’s ice cream bowl and leaves it to dry next to the sink, turns out all the lights through the apartment. The entire time, Katya stands motionless next to the couch. When Trixie touches her bicep she flinches and then shakes her head and manages a smile.

“Sorry. I feel. . . weird. It’s not you.”

“I don’t know how to break this to you but you _are_ weird.”

That earns a smile, and Trixie takes Katya’s hand to lead her to the bathroom. She puts her toothbrush into her hand and then leaves her to it, goes to rummage around in the closet for something she can sleep in. Nothing Katya has ever worn has a chance in hell of fitting Trixie. She sighs and unzips her white miniskirt, resigning herself to sleeping in her pink graphic tee and her underwear tonight.

It’ll only be their second time sharing a bed. The first was weeks and weeks ago, when Katya dyed her hair for her. Then, she’d spent the whole night laying on her back staring at the ceiling and listening to Katya occasionally yell out some gibberish in her sleep. Things haven’t changed since then, not on the surface, but now Trixie feels like she might be allowed to hold her.

Trixie uses the bathroom after Katya’s done. She doesn’t have a spare toothbrush, so Trixie scrubs some toothpaste around her mouth with her finger and resolves to go out first thing in the morning and buy one. For next time. When she comes back out Katya is in bed in just her sports bra and her underwear. She lifts the sheets for Trixie to get in and she does, after turning out the light. Katya doesn’t close her blinds, because she’s up before the sun most days anyway, so it’s still light enough that Trixie can see her face.

Katya is the first to lay down, curled up on her side facing Trixie, and Trixie makes herself comfortable too so that their noses are almost touching. Katya takes one of Trixie’s hands in both of hers and holds it against her chest, right over her heart.

“Thank you for being here with me. I know you’ve been beating off better offers with a stick.”

Trixie makes a high-pitched noise like Katya’s socked her in the stomach. “I would never — _never_ — beat off in somebody else’s bed. How dare you insinuate something so _depraved_? So- so-”

Katya swats her hard on the arm to shut her up. She wishes she could make Katya talk to her, really talk, but she’s so grateful to be here that she doesn’t want to wreck everything by pushing. Katya is hurting, and she came to her. She sought Trixie out for comfort, like she’s been doing over and over again since the robbery. Trixie feels honoured and important, like she’s something precious to Katya. She likes to be needed, always has, and especially by her.

“You are unspeakably awful,” Katya tells her very seriously, and then dissolves into giggles. Trixie can feel her kicking her feet and squirming around beneath the sheets. “But really, Trix. Thanks.”

“It’s very affirming for me to see that you’re capable of experiencing human emotion.” In the almost-dark, Trixie has more courage than usual. She lets her voice get soft around the edges. “I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else, Zamo.”

They’re quiet for a little while. Katya’s eyes are closed, but Trixie knows that she’s still awake because her thumb is drifting slowly back and forth across Trixie’s knuckles. Trixie breathes shallowly, afraid to move and perforate the moment. After a while Katya rolls to her other side, but she keeps hold of Trixie’s hand so that she can draw her arm around her. Not that Trixie needs to be persuaded.

She hides her face against the back of Katya’s head and breathes in the smell of her, dry shampoo and always flowers. It feels illicit to be doing this, but she’s sure Katya knows and can feel Trixie’s nose in her hair. She’s tiny in Trixie’s arms, but Trixie can feel the muscle just below the surface too.

Right when Trixie thinks Katya has maybe fallen asleep for real this time, she starts talking again, very quietly. Trixie hasn’t ever heard her sound so centered and so calm.

“After everything. . . I didn’t want to talk to her. I didn’t want to go to her with a problem I was having.” Trixie makes a little noncommittal noise and tightens her arm around Katya to show her that she’s listening. “I need somebody who can prioritise me.” Trixie’s heart puts down roots. And when Katya says, “I need somebody I get to see every day,” it begins to sprout.

Trixie chews on the inside of her cheek and tries very hard not to let her arms twitch around Katya. She cherishes what they have, enough that she’s afraid to risk losing her completely.

“You deserve that. I’m sure it’ll happen for you.” She has to swallow down a bitter taste to say it, but Katya makes a small, thoughtful noise and her body goes soft in Trixie’s arms.

When she thinks that Katya’s asleep, Trixie carefully takes her arm away and rolls over. It’s not that she doesn’t want to hold her — it feels like that’s all she’s been wanting for months and months — she just doesn’t think she’ll ever be able to fall asleep if she lays there with her face buried in Katya’s hair.

In the morning, she wakes up to Katya doing yoga right next to the bed. When Trixie opens her eyes she’s fully upside down, balancing her entire body weight on her forearms. Her face gets bright when she sees that Trixie’s awake and she grins widely, says, “Hey! Good morning. I ran out for bagels, there’s one on the counter for you. And iced tea. I got you the peach one, I thought that sounded good, but I won’t be upset if you don’t like it. I also picked up a toothbrush for you.”

“Oh my god.” Trixie sits up and presses the heels of her palms into her eye sockets, wishes she had enough flexion in her spine to fold herself forward. “I am not emotionally prepared for a monologue right now. Especially while you’re upside down, Elastigirl.”

“Ooh!” Katya says, and flops onto her back on her mat. “Mirage was totally my gay awakening.”

Trixie laughs and gets out of bed, wanders over to the kitchen space to get her breakfast, her bare feet sticking to the hardwood. “Weren’t you like seventy five when that movie came out?”

“I was sixteen, you despicable villain,” Katya shrieks. She’s still on her back on the floor, and her stomach and throat are glistening with sweat.

Nothing is different. Things haven’t changed as much as Trixie had anticipated they might, on the occasions she allowed her mind to wander and she thought about a Violetless future. Katya doesn’t fall right into Trixie’s arms. She’s acting exactly the same as usual. Trixie keeps catching herself studying her, looking for a sign that she’s about to crack, but she seems good. She seems _happy_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you can find me on [tumblr](https://katiehoughton.tumblr.com/) and [twitter](https://twitter.com/reallybeanie)! i hope you're all taking care of yourselves ♡


	7. iris albicans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks of course to the polycule for being endlessly supportive and wonderful. And [stutter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/stutter/pseuds/stutter), what can I even say that’s still unsaid? Thank you, I love you, I’m so lucky.

Trixie drops her tea opening the front door of Prick and stains her white shorts, and it’s already like the seventh bad thing that’s happened to her this morning. She slept restlessly, in short bursts, and woke up before her alarm to the rain thundering in through her left-open window. Her eyeliner ran out halfway through her makeup, and she smacked her knee so hard getting out of the shower that it’s already mottled green and purple.

When she makes it inside she sits down right on the ground and puts her head in her hands, smelling peach tea all over herself. Her braids are leaving two sodden patches on her shirt, and when she swipes her fingertips beneath her eyes they come away with a smudgy scrim of black. She texts Kim to ask her to bring something else she can wear when she starts her shift at Nightshade this afternoon, and then she scrapes herself off the floor.

While her phone is in her hand, she opens her conversation with Katya again. She has the embarrassing habit of reading over their text messages, and she scrolls back through their conversation last night. They made plans to go see a movie this evening, and it’s the only thing stopping Trixie from turning right around and going home to pull the sheets over her head.

“Mama, you look rough,” Pearl tells her when she arrives a little later. Trixie stares her down wordlessly, and she produces a little thing of makeup wipes from her backpack and holds them out.

She takes a little longer than is really necessary in the bathroom, and when she comes out her first client is already waiting. He’s one of her regulars, a sweet guy who does as she asks, and she starts to feel a little better. Trixie likes linework the best, but she’s grateful to be doing shading this morning so she can let her brain shut off a little bit. Her client chats easily with her and it feels good to get something right, to remind herself that this is what she’s good at.

At lunch, Kim drops in to give Trixie a clean pair of pants. She follows her through to the back room and boosts herself up onto Trixie’s freshly sanitised chair.

“Are you haunted?” she asks, and when Trixie whips around to glare at her she tilts her head sweetly.

Trixie peels out of her stained shorts and wipes down the top of her thigh where it still feels sticky. When she’s done, Kim passes her the clean slacks. They’re her favourite pink pair, and she feels a little rush of tenderness for Kim.

“By my tragic past, yes,” Trixie tells her. She closes the space between them and wraps one arm around Kim, squeezes her as tight as she thinks she can get away with. Kim makes a strangled, disgusted noise, but she rests her weight against Trixie. “Thank you, I love you, get off my chair. Aren’t you late for work?”

“It’s _Zamo_.”

Trixie kneels down to put her sneakers back on, and keeps her eyes firmly on her hands. “Still. Don’t take advantage, Kimberly.”

“You are so gross when you have a crush,” Kim says, but she does hop down from the chair and head next door.

After lunch, Trixie has a new client. They met last week for her consultation and she seemed perfectly nice, if maybe a little naïve. This will be her first tattoo, and it’s not small. It winds all the way along her arm, over her elbow. Trixie did suggest that she get something smaller and in a less painful spot for her first tattoo, but she’d been pretty insistent.

The first second Trixie’s tattoo needle touches her skin, the girl starts _screaming_. It’s like nothing Trixie has ever heard, shrill and sustained and so loud. She doesn’t stop until Trixie takes the needle away from her skin again.

“Blair, hon, we don’t have to do this. It’s not too late for me to stop.”

She turns her head toward Trixie and nods a couple times, says, “No, it’s okay. I can handle it.”

As soon as Trixie touches the needle to her again she screams, but she interrupts herself to tell Trixie to keep going. After maybe a minute, she starts wriggling and Trixie has to jerk away so she doesn’t completely ruin the linework. Pearl pokes her head around the door to check that everything is okay, and Trixie gives her a tight smile and tells her they’re fine.

“I’m gonna start up again, okay?” Trixie says.

“Okay.”

Blair takes a deep breath, and starts screaming before Trixie even touches her this time. Pearl is hanging out in the doorway now, just watching them, and Trixie has to be careful to avoid her eyes so she doesn’t totally lose it. She tries to persevere, she really does, but the screaming is so loud that her ears are ringing and Blair cannot stay still at all. Eventually, she shuts off the tattoo machine and peels off her gloves.

“What’re you doing?”

“I can’t tattoo you if you can’t stay still!” Trixie snaps. It isn’t fair of her, and Blair starts crying immediately. She looks pink and watery and she starts sniffling, and then two fat tears escape and roll down her face. Trixie pinches the bridge of her nose. “I think you should go home, take some time to regroup. Now that you know what it’s like, you’ll be better prepared next time.”

Blair twists her arm around to look at the back of her bicep. “You can’t leave it like this! It looks crazy.”

“It’ll look a lot crazier if I mess it up because you moved.” Trixie sucks in a slow breath. “Pearl will help you make a new appointment at the desk.”

Trixie ushers Blair out and closes the door behind her, lets her head thunk heavily against it. She’s so frustrated with the whole day that she could cry, too. Pearl teases her for the rest of the afternoon about making a client cry, and Trixie is so not in the mood for it that she sends her home early and closes up by herself.

While she’s at the front desk, shutting down the register, she sees Katya waiting for her. She flutters her fingers at Trixie in a goofy little wave and Trixie laughs into the silence of the studio. Outside, Trixie says, “Hey Zamo,” without turning to look at her. She has to lock up, and Katya stands right there with her shoulder propped against the front window, just watching. “Can we take a rain check on tonight?”

Katya makes a small noise of concern, and Trixie lifts her eyes to her now that she’s finally gotten the door locked. “Is everything okay?”

“Mm. I had a particularly unpleasant client, earlier. I kind of just wanna go home and veg out.”

Katya’s face has fallen just the tiniest bit, but she musters a smile from somewhere and offers it to Trixie. “Sure. Yeah. That’s fine. Totally.”

“Do you want to come home with me? I guess I can tolerate your company,” Trixie says, to try and disguise how badly she wants that. How the whole time she was working with Blair earlier — the whole awful day — she had been thinking about getting to vent to Katya about it later this evening.

“Yeah! Yes, okay, let’s do that.” Katya’s grinning wider now.

Once Trixie has gotten the alarm set, the two of them head for the station on 79th. Katya hooks her arm through Trixie’s as they’re walking and she has to slow her long strides a little bit. With anybody else she’d shrug them off, wanting space, but she likes to have Katya close.

At the apartment, Trixie pokes her head around Kim’s door to say hello and give her a heads-up that Katya is here as well. She’s FaceTiming with her family and she flaps a dismissive hand towards Trixie, who closes the door behind herself as softly as she can. When she turns around Katya’s hovering right there like a ghoul and Trixie jerks the tiniest bit.

“I think you should take a bath,” Katya says very seriously. “You like baths. Can I draw you a bath?”

It’s a little peculiar, but Trixie _does_ like baths. The idea of soaking for a while doesn’t sound bad at all, especially if she doesn’t have to do any of the prep for herself. “That’s. . . very suspicious. Are you gonna try to drown me?”

“Not today.” Katya wiggles her shoulders.

She looks extra pretty today, her hair pulled back in two braids with little curling pieces escaping to frame her face. Trixie swallows roughly and turns away to gesture towards the bathroom. When she tries to follow Katya inside and gets the door closed in her face she shrugs and sits down on the couch instead to wait. The sounds of suspicious rummaging come out of the bathroom, but Trixie trusts Katya not to flood the unit below theirs so she leaves her to it and scrolls aimlessly around on Instagram.

When the bath is ready, Katya comes all the way into the living room and holds out her hand to Trixie. She takes it right away, and allows herself to be led through her own home. Katya has used a bubble bar, so that the bathtub is piled high, and steam is rising off the water. She’s found the candles Trixie keeps in the cabinet just for this and scattered them artfully around, lit them all.

“You want a glass of wine?”

Trixie is not a big drinker, and she especially doesn’t like to drink around Katya. Not that she thinks she wouldn’t be able to handle it, she just likes to show her solidarity. After the day she’s had though, and if Katya’s offering-

“Sure. There’s a bottle in the refrigerator door.”

While Katya pours her a glass, Trixie gets undressed and steps into the bathtub. The water is scalding, just how she likes it. She has to stand there for a moment to let her feet and calves adjust while she hisses through her teeth, and then she sinks to lie down completely. Her hair is up in a knot on the top of her head, but little tendrils are already sticking to her neck and forehead.

Katya comes back with the wine, and the little portable speaker from Trixie’s bedroom. She’s got Trixie’s phone as well and she unlocks it and connects it, starts one of her favourite playlists. The bubbles are covering everything, but Katya still averts her eyes when she hands Trixie her wine glass.

“I’ll leave you to it,” she says quietly, and turns around to leave Trixie alone in the bathtub with her thoughts.

Trixie clears her throat. “Actually, will you, um. . . will you stay? In here. With me.”

“Sure,” Katya says easily. She folds up a spare towel to sit on and settles herself on the floor with her back against the side of the bathtub. Trixie is so grateful that for once in her life Katya has opted not to tease, has just shut up and sat down without question.

It’s strange, to be naked while Katya is right there and fully clothed. Trixie sips her wine and listens to the story Katya is telling. She’s not really following the thread of it, feels sort of like she’s stumbling along blind behind her, but it’s nice just to hear her voice. Katya pushes the bathroom door closed with her toes, to keep the warmth inside.

Trixie feels plump and lovely. Her skin is pink from the water and smooth from whatever oils Katya dug out to put in here. She lifts her left hand out of the water lazily and watches the water beading and sliding off the ends of her fingertips. The steam and the heat and the bath oils are making her feel just the tiniest bit woozy.

And Katya’s right there. Her head is next to Trixie’s hand. If she wanted, she could reach out and tug on one of those braids, trace the pale line of Katya’s scalp, touch the little point that her right ear comes to. She does want to, of course, always. It doesn’t mean that she _should_.

“Are you feeling better?” Katya asks after a small lull. She tips her head back as if she’ll be able to see Trixie if she cranes her neck far enough, which seems improbable but not out of the realm of possibility for her.

Trixie lets herself rest her hand over the side of the bathtub so that it’s in Katya’s field of vision, and Katya butts her head against it like a dog looking for affection. She hasn’t had enough wine yet to make her reckless, she just feels pleasantly loose-limbed.

“Yeah. Thanks, Zamo.”

She likes the pleased, proud little noise Katya makes very much. The overhead light isn’t on in the bathroom, which means the fan isn’t either, and condensation is beading on every flat surface. Katya swipes the back of her hand above her upper lip. It feels reckless to have her so close; Trixie wants her so badly that it feels unsafe.

Eyes closed, Trixie rests her head against the lip of the bathtub and lets herself drift a little bit. She wonders, if she asked, would Katya peel out of her jeans and her red t-shirt. Would she step into the tub and sink down so that Trixie could feel her skin, soft and slippery against hers. Would she let Trixie kiss her.

It doesn’t seem likely, but it’s still nice to think about.

“You know,” Katya says, and Trixie can hear the little tug of amusements she gets at just one corner of her mouth. “I’m right next door. I can hear it through the wall, when you’re torturing people.”

Trixie chokes, aghast, and says, “I _wasn’t_ -”

“I know you weren’t.” Katya’s voice sounds soft and far away, because she isn’t facing Trixie. “Pearl texted. Told me all about it. If somebody’s _bothering_ you, honey, if you need someone very gallant and courageous to back you up, you just come get me next time.”

Trixie shoves on the back of Katya’s head so that it snaps forwards and seems to wrench a screech right out of her. Water is dripping from her arm onto the back of Katya’s shirt but it doesn’t seem to bother her, so Trixie leaves it draped along the edge of the bathtub. When Katya sits back again, her head rests against Trixie’s warm skin.

“You think you’re _gallant_?” Trixie says. “When, exactly, will that start happening?”

Katya’s laughing and squirming around on the tile. This whole time, she hasn’t once turned over her shoulder to look at Trixie, didn’t even stare when she first came in. It makes Trixie feel, if not unattractive, at least completely sexless. The bubbles are beginning to dissipate now and she can see her flesh appearing beneath the surface of the water, raw-looking and distorted like in a funhouse mirror.

“I’m ready to get out.” Her voice comes out more pinched than she would have liked, and it cuts off Katya’s laughter right away.

“Oh. Sure.” She gets up, both of her knees clicking loudly, and arches her back. It can’t have been comfortable to sit on the floor. “Why don’t you soak for five more minutes, and I’ll go throw your pajamas in the dryer?”

She takes the empty glass Trixie has left on the edge of the bathtub, still very carefully not looking at her, and leaves the bathroom. Trixie rakes a wet hand over her face. When she asked Katya to stay in the bathroom with her she thought it would be nice to have company, but all it’s done is make her heart feel tender and achy.

Trixie pulls the plug and stands up, lets some of the water start cascading off of her before she gets out. Her towel is waiting on the bar and she wraps it around herself, tucks it neatly to make sure it’s secure. The mirror over the sink has fogged up so much that she’s an amorphous pink blob, but she’s glad not to have to make eye contact with herself right now. There’s a soft knock on the bathroom door and then it opens and a slender hand comes around, holding Trixie’s favourite pajamas.

She takes them, and takes her time working lotion into her skin before she puts them on. They’re pink flannel, and she’s had them so long that the elastic in the waist has gone so they never cut into her stomach or hips. She has lots of cute things, things with silk and lace and sheer panels, that Katya could have chosen. Instead, she’s picked the most matronly pair Trixie owns.

When Trixie comes out of the bathroom, Katya’s sitting on the arm of the couch with her feet on the cushion. She smiles fondly and puts her phone away in the back pocket of her jeans. After the day she’s had, and the wine and the bath, Trixie feels ready to get right into bed. That seems rude to do with a guest here, even if it is Katya, so she hovers awkwardly in the middle of her own living room.

Trixie so desperately doesn’t want to spoil things, but she can’t stop thinking about Katya’s mouth and her hands and her thighs. She knows Katya doesn’t feel the same, that her type is mean, skinny brunettes. That she could never long for Trixie the way that Trixie does her. It goes right through the middle of her, swift and sudden, and Trixie bites the inside of her cheek so that she doesn’t cry.

“You look cosy in those,” Katya says.

She skims her flat palms over the outside of her thighs self-consciously. The button holding the flannel closed over her tits is straining and she’s nervous that it’ll pop open. It’s done that a couple times, which is why she doesn’t usually wear this pair around people other than Kim.

“I feel cosy,” Trixie says slowly. The amount of time she’s just been standing here looking at Katya is rapidly sliding from uncomfortable into absurd, so she closes the gap and sits down at the other end of the couch.

Katya drops off the arm and bounces on the cushion a couple times. She doesn’t seem to have noticed Trixie’s swift sadness, or maybe she’s just passing it off as the remnants of her bad day. Being in her pajamas while Katya is dressed is somehow even more humiliating than when she was naked.

“Do you wanna watch something?” Katya asks her. Trixie groans and drops her head against the back of the couch. “Okay, alright, oh my god. Calm _down_. We don’t have to.”

She’s so tired that she can’t even manage to lift her head again. Trixie lets her eyes close and breathes carefully through her nose. She can feel the hot, insistent press of tears in her sinuses. It’s so embarrassing, so foolish. She’s spent so much time with Katya, and getting to be her friend is worth the ache of not _having_ her, but tonight it’s unbearable. Tonight, she hurts.

When she speaks, Katya’s voice is the softest Trixie has ever heard it. “Trix, did I do something wrong? Are we in a fight?”

“No.” Trixie rolls her head towards Katya but doesn’t open her eyes. “We’re not in a fight. I’m okay. It was just. . . a really hard day.”

“I can go. If you want to be by yourself. I get it.”

She opens her eyes then, and Katya’s concerned, wide-open face is just a few inches from hers. Her hair is a mess of frizz from the humidity in the bathroom, and her lipstick has worn away in the middle. It feels like something in the centre of her chest cleaves in two and all of her anguish comes spilling out. She’s crying before she even really realises it, and she whispers an apology that makes Katya shush her.

Since knowing Katya, Trixie has shed all of her shame like an old and ill-fitting skin. She feels shiny and healthy now. It’s so nice to have somebody she can tell anything to, but she can’t tell her this. Not this. Instead, she cries quietly against Katya’s shoulder when she takes her into her arms.

“I’m here,” Katya tells her. “You don’t have to be brave.”

Trixie allows herself a few moments to be selfish. She allows one sob to escape, just one, that wrenches up from the pit of her stomach and makes her whole body jolt. Her eyes are closed, but it doesn’t stop the tears from spilling over endlessly and making a damp patch on Katya’s shoulder.

When she straightens up Katya watches her warily, but she’s okay. She’s stopped crying. It isn’t fair to put this on her, and Trixie is so afraid that Katya is here out of obligation and not fondness. She swipes at her cheeks with the pads of her fingers. Katya disappears for a second and comes back with a tissue from the box in Trixie’s room. She holds out a hand, but instead of giving it to her Katya sits back down so close that she’s practically in Trixie’s lap and she starts very gently patting her cheeks dry.

“You’re even pretty when you cry,” Katya says. It makes a bubble of awful wet laughter escape and Trixie closes her eyes against the fresh wave that threatens. “Was the client that bad? Or is it something else.”

“I’m okay,” Trixie says instead of really answering.

Katya doesn’t look like she pities her too much, and she’s so relieved she almost starts crying all over again. She takes the tissue out of Katya’s hands and presses it to the corner of her eye. Her hands are trembling, but she doesn’t think it’s enough that Katya might notice.

A warm, slender hand comes to Trixie’s knee and squeezes very gently. “Hey.” Katya waits for Trixie to look at her. “You don’t have to talk to me, if you don’t want. But if you _do_ , I promise to listen and only make fun of you a tiny bit.”

It makes her laugh, and Katya smiles too and takes her hand away again. She doesn’t push any more than that, doesn’t try to force Trixie to talk. She knows it’s a good opportunity, maybe the best one she’s ever gonna have. She also knows that sobbing in the arms of your best friend because you want her so much is deeply not sexy, and definitely not going to help her chances.

Trixie feels small and vulnerable all through the movie. After about thirty minutes, Katya gets up and comes back from Trixie’s room with a blanket she drapes over them both. She has to tuck herself in close, and her cheek squishes against Trixie’s shoulder. When it’s over, when she leaves, she lingers in the doorway of the apartment just looking at Trixie. Her mouth opens, closes, opens again.

Eventually, she says, “You know, you can lean on me too, Trixabelle.”

There’s a raw spot inside of Trixie’s mouth that she can’t stop probing with the tip of her tongue, and her voice comes out so quiet when she says, “I know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm around on [tumblr](https://katiehoughton.tumblr.com/) and [twitter](https://twitter.com/reallybeanie) if you want to chat! i hope you're all safe and well ♡


	8. dianthus caryophyllus.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you to the polycule for being endlessly sweet and supportive. and thank you to [stutter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/stutter/pseuds/stutter), for everything. her work [Vernalis](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23451748/chapters/56215783) wrapped this week and if you haven't read it, you should. it's perfect.

“You’re being weird.” Monét pulls her straw out of the tall glass and gestures at Trixie with it, and a little blob of milkshake slurps from the end of it onto the table. Trixie finds herself staring at it, only lifting her eyes when Monét says, “Trixie! Are you with me?”

“Yes. Yeah.” Trixie wipes the table clean with one of the napkins they were given. She’s hardly touched her own milkshake, just stirred it around and around until it’s gotten melty and the sprinkles have dissolved into it and turned it grey. “I’m sorry. I’m with you.”

Monét just looks at her for a beat or two longer, and then goes right back to telling Trixie about her colleague. That’s part of why Trixie asked Monét to hang out today, and not Tatianna or Kim. She’s the most likely to let it drop, to let Trixie just be sulky and shift around in the booth so that the vinyl seating squeaks beneath her bare thighs.

“Anyway.” Monét scoops the last of her milkshake out of the bottom of its glass and continues monologuing.

Trixie is glad to listen, glad to think about something else for a while. Monét is a mezzo-soprano with the Metropolitan Opera, which means she’s often available during the daytime when Trixie isn’t scheduled to work, and she always has a story dramatic and scandalous enough to make Trixie’s own life feel like _Shouts & Murmurs_. It’s comforting.

She’s avoiding Katya. Every time she thinks about crying in her arms she feels hot with shame, like the tips of her ears are turning red. They still haven’t really talked about it. Katya is too smart not to have realised that Trixie wasn’t just upset about a difficult client, but every time it’s seemed like she might bring it up Trixie has changed the subject.

“Girl, you know you can just say somethin’ if you don’t wanna hear about my drama today.” Monét extends her leg beneath the table to prod Trixie in the shin with the pointed toe of her shoe. “I won’t be mad. What’s going on with you?”

Trixie props her elbows on the table and laces her fingers together, rests her chin on top of them. Her mouth still tastes unpleasantly sweet and cloying from the one sip of milkshake she managed. She doesn’t even know what flavour it is. She let Monét choose for both of them.

“I’m fine,” Trixie manages to say.

If she keeps saying it, if she repeats it like a talisman, it might come true. She said it to Kim a handful of days ago, when she found her crying in the kitchen over an empty bag of shredded cheese. She says it to Raja every morning, who clicks her tongue but doesn’t push it.

“Are you sure, girl? You and Zamo haven’t posted any obnoxious Instagram stories lately. Y’all get in a fight or something?”

Trixie can’t quietly put space between herself and Katya. Not when they’re in a group chat together and Trixie is very conspicuously not responding to anything she posts in there. Not when their two friend groups overlap so neatly at this point that the Venn diagram is essentially a circle.

“We didn’t get in a fight. I’m just trying to. . .” Trixie glances around the little milkshake bar but it’s a slow day and there’s nothing to distract her. “I need to take a step back from her.”

Monét scoots her chair back away from the table a little ways, enough that she can recline into it and prop her ankle against her opposite knee. She’s gorgeous, and Trixie is very used to everybody staring whenever they spend any time together. Trixie gave her a second nose piercing a little while back and she wears two matching gold rings in the right side. She’s absolutely not supposed to have them in for her performances, but Trixie pities anyone who has ever tried to tell Monét what to do.

“Why? You guys are like the best friends in a movie,” Monét says. “You’re the kind of best friends everybody wishes they had.”

“I’m just overwhelmed right now, okay?” Trixie snaps.

Instead of matching Trixie’s hostility, Monét reaches across the table to take her hand and says very gently, “Trixie-girl, are you in love with her?”

Trixie’s voice comes out warped and wet when she says, “ _What_? No. Of course not.”

Then she’s crying. They’re huge, fat tears that crash into her lap like she’s Alice in Wonderland, and she chokes on one single, humiliating sob. “I don’t love her,” she says. “I _hate_ her for making me feel like this.”

“Oh, Trixie.” Monét gets out of her chair and comes around to Trixie’s side, squeezes in next to her on the shiny red bench seat. Trixie folds herself in small against Monét’s side and hides her face, allows herself to be cradled. “Both of those things can be true at the same time.”

Trixie is so ashamed to be broken-hearted over something she’s never even had. It was sweet, to have her crush, even if she felt vaguely condescended to when her friends would tease her or warn her to be careful. It isn’t sweet anymore. It feels like there’s something alive and violent in her chest, something with snapping teeth.

They sit for a long time. They sit until Trixie’s shoulders stop shuddering, and then Monét holds the little compact mirror steady so Trixie can put herself back together again as best she can. She looks vaguely cunicular, her nose red and twitching and her eyes pink.

“I know I can’t tell you what to do,” Monét says. She’s still right next to Trixie, their bare knees pressed together. “I know you didn’t ask me for advice or anything, and girl, you can tell me it ain’t none of my business if you want. But you have to talk to her. Zamo is not the type to let it go.”

Trixie sighs and pinches the bridge of her nose. Her whole face aches, there’s so much pressure in her sinuses. “I can’t talk to her about this. I don’t wanna lose her. I don’t wanna have to figure out how to survive without her.”

“Girl, aren’t you doing that right now?” Monét is so loud and shrill that it makes Trixie actually laugh. The servers in the milkshake bar have been eyeing the two of them warily the last half hour, and none of the other patrons have picked tables anywhere near them. “At least just text her or somethin’. You don’t gotta look her in the eye and do it.”

Monét walks Trixie all the way back to her building, which is in the total opposite direction to her own apartment. In the vestibule, she hovers while Trixie checks the mail, one hip propped against the metal row of mailboxes. Kim is working today, so Trixie will have the apartment to herself for the rest of the afternoon. She’s not sure what she’ll do with that time — baths have become deeply unappealing — but it’ll be nice not to be accountable to anyone for a while.

“You sure you don’t want me to come up with you? I can hang out until the show.”

Trixie lets the mailbox close with a satisfying clang that echoes through the lobby and up the stairwell. “No, girl. You’ve already seen me at my lowest, what are you trying to do? Gather material to blackmail me later?”

“Oh I already have way more of that than I’m ever gonna need,” Monét laughs. “Seriously though. Let me know if you need something, alright?”

Trixie allows herself to be hugged, _again_ , and says goodbye to Monét. She stomps up the stairs to the apartment, not bothering to balance her weight on her toes like she usually does, and inside she sits down right on the floor in the hallway. She spends a long time looking at the message window with Katya, drafting, deleting, re-drafting.

There’s no way to phrase it that doesn’t make her seem tragic and deluded. Eventually, Trixie turns her phone off completely and leaves it in her room while she busies herself emptying everything out of the kitchen cabinets and scrubbing them clean.

* * *

Things had been starting to feel easier in the handful of days since she saw Monét, but today Trixie is wallowing again. She was supposed to go to Tatianna’s show tonight, but she woke up this morning and felt so heavy that she couldn’t even move. Everyone in the group chat was sweet about it when she said she wasn’t up to it, except for Katya who didn’t reply. Trixie can’t fault her for that, not when she’s been taking hours at a time to message Katya back, if she does at all.

It hurts too much. It doesn’t feel safe, and she feels small and foolish and ashamed that she let it get this bad. She should’ve created some distance between herself and Katya way back when she first recognised how close they were getting, how attached she was. It’s so much worse to have to do it now.

She’s been on the couch since she got home from the studio, stewing in her own self-pity. Kim cooked dinner and put the bowl right into her hands, then sat in the armchair to make sure that she actually ate it. There are dishes for Trixie to do — Kim is sweet, but she’s not _that_ sweet — but right now all she can do is sit and wait for her brain to stop flapping around the room in circles over her head.

A knock at the door makes her actually jump, which is deeply embarrassing even without anyone to witness it. She pads down the hall with one hand pressed against her sternum, her heart leaping against the heel of her palm.

“Zamo!” Trixie blurts when she opens the door. “What- how’d you get up here?”

“I texted Kim to buzz me up.”

Katya looks small and exhausted, her hands jammed into the pockets of her cropped jacket so that her shoulders are up around her ears. Her face is bare and Trixie can see where her skin is dry between her eyebrows and on her chin.

“Oh. Sure. Um. . . come in?” Trixie steps back out of the doorway so Katya can come inside the apartment. Usually when she comes over she bounds right to the couch and arranges herself on it like a beloved pet, stretched out and unafraid to occupy space. Tonight, she stands right inside the door and looks at Trixie, her eyes wide and beseeching. “You want tea?”

“If you’re making it.”

Katya follows her into the kitchen, and Trixie remembers too late about the dishes. Whatever, it’s not as if Katya is in any position to judge someone for that. And Trixie’s pretty sure she’s not here to scope out her chores. They’re quiet as Trixie fills the kettle, sets it on the burner, rummages in the cabinet for tea and two clean mugs. She’s comforted by the familiar routine, by having something to keep her hands busy.

When she’s done, when she can’t stall any longer, she turns around with a mug in each hand and Katya blurts, “Trixie, did I do something to you?”

It startles her and she sloshes some of the scalding tea onto the webbing between her thumb and index finger. Katya sees it happen and hurries to take the mug from her so she can suck her burned skin into her mouth. She closes her eyes so she doesn’t have to see Katya staring, just a couple inches from her face.

Usually she likes the way Katya moves through the apartment like it’s her own home, but tonight she finds it irritating. Katya settles herself sideways in the armchair with her legs hanging over the side and leans over to unbuckle her stupid jelly shoes. She doesn’t take them off, just lets them dangle from her feet when she swings them.

“You didn’t do anything to me,” Trixie manages to say. She’s clutching her mug in both hands now, but the thought of actually drinking any of it makes her throat feel closed over.

Katya kicks her feet a little too aggressively and one of her shoes comes flying off and launches across the room, landing with a thud right in front of the couch. She is unbothered as always and she flexes her toes, says, “Cool! Okay, why are you being so weird then?”

It’s making Trixie crazy to look at her with just one shoe on. She redirects her focus into the purple depths of her tea and says, “ _I’m_ being weird? People in glass houses, Zamo.” Her voice comes out unkind, pulled taut.

Katya barks a little laugh into the room and lets her have that one. “Yes, Trixabelle. You’re being very weird. Why are you avoiding me?”

“I’m sorry,” Trixie says very quietly. “I didn’t want to hurt you.”

Katya’s sweet, concerned face is half squished against the tall back of the armchair. “You didn’t hurt me. I’m more worried about you, honey.”

“Don’t be. I’m fine.” That earns her a little twitch of Katya’s eyebrow. Trixie hurries to change the subject. “Shouldn’t you be at Tatianna’s show?”

Katya studies her for a moment, and Trixie sees it move across her face when she decides not to push it. “I decided I’d rather spend the evening with my favourite person. If you’ll have me.”

“I thought Julia Roberts is your favourite person.”

For the first time all night, Katya’s face breaks open around a smile. She flutters her hands in the air like she’s exasperated and says, “Julia is not a person, she is an ethereal being. A deity.” She draws her palms together, flat as if in prayer, and then tilts both hands down so she’s pointing them at Trixie. “May I please come sit next to you on your wonderful couch?”

“Oh my god. Yes. Fine,” Trixie says, chewing on the inside of her cheek so she doesn’t grin. This is exactly why she’s been withdrawing. When they’re together, when Katya is laughing so loud and snatching Trixie’s fists right out of the air, it’s easy to forget all the things Trixie won’t ever get to have.

Katya does a little pirouette on her way across the room, and she gets right onto the couch on her knees with both legs folded beneath herself. She’s so close Trixie can smell her shampoo. “Hello hi. I missed you.”

“You were just right in the armchair,” Trixie says, and turns to look at it.

It’s easier than looking at Katya, who is hovering right in her peripheral vision. She’s so near, and her eyes look extra big and blue without any makeup. Trixie likes her aquiline nose and her full lips, how her bangs are falling into her eyes. She’s having to make a considered, focused effort not to squirm around the sharp hook of _want_ in her belly.

“Not that,” Katya says easily. “This last week. Trixie. I wanna hang out with you more than anybody else.”

“I wanna hang out with you, too.”

Katya is always so earnest. It’s one of the things Trixie likes the best about her. She plucks one of Trixie’s limp hands out of her lap and folds it carefully between both of her own. Her skin is very warm, her fingertips a little coarse because she works with her hands all day. She starts up absently stroking long, weaving patterns over the back of Trixie’s hand. Trixie watches, open-mouthed. When she lifts her eyes to meet Katya’s they’re dark in the low light of the apartment. Katya’s lips part, and the work of her fingers stumbles, gets slower.

“Zamo-”

Katya clears her throat and drops Trixie’s hand. “Can you tell me what happened?”

“I just got spooked,” Trixie says very quietly. She can’t tell Katya the truth. She won’t do it. “It’s. . . I’m not good at needing people.” Katya is very calm and quiet, just watching Trixie speak. “It scares me.”

“I think you’ve proven yourself to be incredibly self-sufficient and courageous. You’re enormously successful in your career, you have the respect and admiration of everyone around you.”

Trixie’s eyes shutter closed and she ducks her chin. “Thank you, I try very hard.”

“You do, yes. I know you do,” Katya says. Her hand lands at Trixie’s knee and squeezes. “Trixie, everybody needs people sometimes. Even extremely brave pink lesbians. It’s not a character flaw.”

Trixie has the bad habit of chewing on the inside of her bottom lip, and it feels swollen and raw when she touches her tongue to it. “I. . . yeah. I know.”

“I mean it, you’re my favourite,” Katya says. Trixie lifts her eyes to her again because she has to see what that looks like, what it’s done to Katya’s face. She’s smiling, the bridge of her nose all crinkled like it sometimes gets. “I don’t know why, I don’t want to examine the parts of my psyche that lead me to being comforted by someone who is so endlessly mean to me.” Katya ploughs right through Trixie’s little shriek of indignation. “But I’m not gonna try to, like, force you to spend time with me. I am a classy, sophisticated woman with a great deal of self-respect, and I am not about to beg.”

Trixie lifts one eyebrow and says, “You are a _fille de joie_.”

“Don’t!” Katya screams, and flings herself backward against the couch cushion with all four limbs wiggling in the air, full June bug. “You can’t speak French unless you’re gonna fuck me.”

“Mama, you know I’m not about to fuck anybody.” Trixie's voice cracks in half and she swallows roughly, pinches her septum, hopes Katya’s cackling is loud enough that she won’t have noticed. Her shirt has ridden up and her stomach is shuddering with every wheezing inhale. Trixie says, “With these nails?” and wiggles her fingers at Katya. “Girl. Assault with a deadly weapon.”

They’re filed into neat almond shapes, and right now she has them adorned with chunky holographic glitters and tiny pink and red hearts. She’s had plenty of time lately to let them grow. She remembers the first time she fucked Shea, stumbling up the stairs of her four-storey walk-up foolish and drunk on each other. Shea had watched as Trixie cut her nails short and filed them, her legs folded neatly beneath herself at the end of Shea’s bed while she, propped up against the headboard, rubbed herself through her underwear.

“Trixie,” Katya wrings out the last of her laughter until she’s depleted and her voice is breathy. “God. I _missed_ you.”

“I’m sorry,” Trixie whispers. Katya sits up again without using her arms, her whole body one fluid line, and folds Trixie into a hug. It’s not a good angle for it, not comfortable, but Trixie hides her face against the side of Katya’s neck and breathes in the smell of her. “I missed you, too. I don’t want you to beg either, that’s not it. Not for us.”

When they separate, Katya tucks Trixie’s hair back behind her ear for her. “It’s okay for you to need space, Trixabelle. I understand that the zero gravity is the only thing that’s stopping the cancer from eating you alive.” Trixie scowls and swats at Katya, who wriggles out of the way and says, “Just tell me that that’s what’s happening, next time?”

“I’ll tell you.”

“Great!” Katya says brightly. “Then we’re okay to go.”

Trixie lunges at Katya with both hands out like she’s going to strangle her, but she doesn’t know what to do when she actually gets them around Katya’s neck. The skin of her throat is so soft and warm, her pulse insistent, and she just blinks serenely up at Trixie, who says, “No more _Contact_ , Zamo.”

“I can live with that,” Katya says. “Just don’t make false promises. If you’re gonna choke me out, you better fuckin’ do it for real.”

Trixie drops her hands immediately and tucks herself into the corner of the couch, and Katya follows her and leans over her shoulder to show Trixie a bunch of things on her phone. It’s like nothing happened. Kim comes out of her room — roused by their caterwauling — to glare at them. Katya stays tucked in close against Trixie’s side, and the whole evening comes unravelled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'd love to chat on [tumblr](https://katiehoughton.tumblr.com/) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/reallybeanie)! i hope you're all taking care of yourselves ♡


	9. anthurium andraeanum.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you to the polycule, i love our family and i'm so glad i know you. and thank you [stutter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/stutter/pseuds/stutter) for being so wonderful. this story wouldn't be half what it is without you, and neither would i.

People file into the apartment in a steady stream, smiling and taking off jackets and milling around the living room and kitchen. This is Kim’s party, mostly, even though she insisted Trixie invite a few people and she’s been referring to them as joint hosts. It feels like it hasn’t really started yet, even though there’s quite a lot of people here now. It won’t feel like it’s begun until Katya gets here, not to Trixie.

Monét has been gently reassuring her that Katya will get here soon, not that Trixie asked or is at all comfortable with Monét bringing up how stupidly head-over-heels she is for her best friend. She and Kim have both been teasing her all evening, the whole time they were setting up. At least now there are more people here to distract them so Trixie can have a break.

They don’t have any of the overhead lights on, just the lamps in the living room and some string lights Kim dug out from somewhere to drape artfully around. It’s warm and it smells good from the couple candles they lit and a batch of cookies Kim baked earlier. Trixie’s heart is swollen and too big for her chest. She’s proud of her home and the life she’s built, happy to share it with their friends, but she’s still vibrating with nervous energy.

Kim catches the way Trixie’s entire body orients towards the door when it opens and she squeezes her bicep in a way that is just teetering on the edge of condescending. She looks gorgeous tonight — Trixie knows for a fact that her makeup alone took a couple hours — and people keep coming up to her to compliment or quiz her. Their apartment feels pleasantly full; Trixie likes to look around and see everyone she cares about.

Well. Almost everyone.

“She’ll be here. She told me she was super excited about it.”

“Who?” Trixie says, fooling absolutely no one, and gets an eye roll from Monét for her efforts.

Someone else comes to steal Kim’s attention then and Monét follows them into the living room proper. Trixie stays where she is, awkwardly lurking close to the entryway. The music is loud in a way that’s fun now but later is going to start grating on her nerves, and she can still taste the one glass of Kim’s _extremely_ noxious punch that she allowed herself to have. It’s in a vintage cut-glass bowl, and Trixie is pretty sure Kim made it to show off her glassware and not because anybody actually drinks punch anymore.

When it happens, when she arrives, Trixie misses it completely. She has allowed herself to be sucked into a conversation with Raja and her wife, who she’s met a handful of times and who is one of the most beautiful creatures Trixie has ever encountered. Trixie’s facing away, but she hears the door open and feels a shift in the room, like the air has suddenly become charged. She stops talking mid-sentence, stumbling to a halt like a worn-out animatronic, and Raja and Raven both laugh at her but she hardly even hears it.

Katya has come in with Tatianna, and Pearl has accosted the two of them right by the door and taken their jackets. Trixie allows herself one glance over her shoulder, just one, and her mouth goes dry. She works her tongue around her teeth and swallows roughly a couple times. Katya’s wearing a dress that is completely sheer and just skims the tops of her thighs, with a lace bodysuit beneath it. Her hair is curled a little tighter than she usually wears it, and her lipstick is one or two shades darker. When Trixie turns to look at her, their eyes meet and Katya gives her a closed-mouthed smile and ducks her chin like she’s shy.

It’s okay. It’s okay, it’s fine. Trixie doesn’t need to go to her right away. They’ve got the whole evening. Once Trixie starts talking to Katya, she knows she isn’t going to want to stop. She finishes up her conversation with Raven and actually finds herself getting drawn in to it. She’s a makeup artist, and Trixie considered that path for herself when she was younger. It’s a fun _what if_ , to hear about Raven’s job. She could almost forget about Katya, if it weren’t for the fact that she can hear her wheezing, infectious laughter from the other side of the apartment.

Trixie makes herself wait twenty minutes, and then she goes to find her. She’s talking to Tati and to Kim’s friend Naomi, something about bangs and how everyone should try them at some point in their life. When she sees Trixie she grins widely and wraps her arm around Trixie’s neck, hauls her in close to kiss her cheek mid-sentence.

It earns them a strange look from Naomi, who excuses herself almost immediately. Tati stays where she is and regards them with one eyebrow raised. Katya lets Trixie go, but only far enough so that she can look at her. She’s wearing one of her very favourite dresses tonight and it’s all pink and lace and ruffles. Katya skims the pads of her fingers over the skirt of it.

“You look so pretty! Like a cake topper.”

Trixie snorts. “Wow, thanks. You look like a demon whore from hell. I like it.”

“Okay, this is like, deeply disgusting.” Tati tucks her hair back behind her ear and excuses herself. Just like that they’re alone together, even if the apartment is throbbing with how full and loud it’s gotten.

“Yeah, well.” Katya shrugs. “I don’t know that many people here. I thought if I have as many of my tattoos as possible on show, that’s a good conversation starter. I can say, hey, do you know Trixie!”

Trixie wants to say that Katya won’t need a conversation starter because she’s not planning on letting her out of her sight for the rest of the evening, but she won’t. If Katya wants to mingle, Trixie can try really hard to let her mingle. Even if the sight of her with Naomi and Tatianna made a fierce wave of possessiveness flare up in her chest.

“Do you want me to introduce you to some people who are much, much cooler than me?”

“No one’s cooler than you,” Katya says. Trixie waits for the takedown, waits for her to follow it up with something barbed, but she doesn’t. Instead, she takes Trixie’s hand and squeezes it for a second before she lets her go again. “Do you want to dance?”

Trixie wrinkles her nose and looks around the living room. People are mostly standing in little clusters, talking and laughing and drinking. No one is inebriated enough yet that they’ve started dancing. If it turns into that, they’ll need to push the couch aside. Kim doesn’t dance, Trixie knows, and none of her haughty model friends seem much the type either.

“I don’t want to dance yet,” Trixie says as diplomatically as she can.

Katya seems entirely unbothered, as she is by most things. She follows Trixie’s gaze across the room to where Kim is talking to Bob. “Who’s that?”

“That’s my roommate and your colleague, Kimberly Chi.” Trixie dodges the fist Katya sends hurtling towards her shoulder, and laughs loud enough that it makes a few people glance over at them. “That’s Bob the Drag Queen. She’s amazing. You wanna meet her?”

Katya’s eyes widen and she makes like she’s going to hide behind Trixie. “No! Oh my god, I can’t meet _Bob the Drag Queen_. Not dressed like this. Why didn’t you tell me she was gonna be here?”

“You look great! I didn’t know you knew her.” Trixie is confused and a little alarmed by Katya’s accusatory tone, and she tries to keep her voice from getting too shrill.

“ _Everybody_ knows about Bob, Trixie. Please.”

It takes Trixie almost forty minutes to persuade Katya to let herself be introduced to Bob. They chat to various other people in the interim, a couple of whom make jabs about Katya being Kim’s boss and how she’ll have to be on her best behaviour this evening. Katya laughs warmly along with them, but her fingers twitch and her knuckles brush Trixie’s where their hands are hanging between their bodies.

Bob and Katya hit it off right away, of course. Trixie is ready to be on the periphery again. She’s comfortable in a room full of people, finds it easy to command attention most of the time, but Katya being here is making her feel off-kilter. She only really wants one person’s attention. She’s just met Bob a couple of times before, but he’s the kind of person who makes everybody feel included in the conversation. And Katya is holding her hand again.

They spend most of the evening just like that. Kim introduces them to a few of her friends as _TrixieandKatya_ and Trixie likes that, likes the sound of the two of them together as one entity. When Trixie’s feet start to hurt in her Pleasers and she gets whiny, she allows Katya to lead her to the couch. There are people already sitting on it and so there’s really not space for both of them, but they squeeze into the gap anyway and Katya ends up half in Trixie’s lap with her arms around her shoulders to keep her balance.

People around them occasionally invite them into their conversations, and at one point they’re facing away from one another having two separate discussions, but Katya’s fingers are sifting absentmindedly through the fine hairs at Trixie’s nape. Every so often she leans in to say something right against Trixie’s ear, just checking in. Trixie can smell her perfume and underneath the smell that’s just _Katya_ , the smell she found herself burying her face against her pillow trying to find again.

Once it gets late people slowly start to leave, only a few at a time, but the apartment feels empty all of the sudden. Trixie has to get up to be a good hostess and say goodbye to people, make sure they have their coats and wish them a safe journey home. Once almost everybody is gone, she latches the door and turns back to face the room. Someone has turned the music off, finally, and all of the lamps. Katya is on the couch right where Trixie left her, but she’s the only one in the living room.

“Hey,” Trixie says, and Katya turns to look at her. “You wanna stay for a movie? I think Naomi and Pearl are.” There’s a yell from the kitchen and Trixie huffs a little laugh, says, “And Tatianna.”

All night, the two of them have been side by side. Sometimes with their heads bent together, murmuring softly, sometimes holding two separate conversations, but Katya has hardly let go of her hand all night. Trixie can’t bear it if Katya leaves now. She’s already missing having the warmth of her right there.

“I’d love to watch a movie,” Katya says.

On her way back over to the couch, Trixie pokes her head around the kitchen doorway to check on Pearl and Tatianna. Tati is talking loudly at Pearl about nothing in particular, and the two of them are making hot cocoa for everyone. Trixie isn’t entirely sure she trusts them with the kettle, but she wants to get back to Katya badly enough that she can let it slide, for tonight. Kim and Naomi are in her bedroom, the door open, so Kim can excitedly show off all the new cosmetics she’s gotten recently. They have a moment or two to themselves.

“You’re a good hostess,” Katya says when Trixie sits back down next to her. She’s played with her hair so much tonight that the curls she showed up with have dropped out into loose waves, and her lipstick is the tiniest bit smudged at the left corner of her mouth.

Trixie thinks she looks lovely, but Trixie always thinks that. She leans her head against the back of the couch and suppresses a yawn just barely, her voice coming out all warped around it. “I’m a snack.”

Katya immediately launches into an animated soliloquy about what kind Trixie would be. She doesn’t really have the energy to participate, but it’s nice just to listen to Katya making herself laugh with the fact that Trixie is a Twinkie, or a Honey Bun, or _no, Trixie, definitely a Ho Ho_. Her eyes are getting heavy and she pops her lashes off and reaches over Katya to leave them on the end table. She’ll forget that they’re there, and they’ll get knocked off and stuck to the bottoms of Kim’s feet, as has happened a hundred times before. The thought of getting up and actually putting them away right now seems impossible.

She doesn’t straighten up right away, lets herself have a moment to just be draped all over Katya. She’s very still beneath her, hardly even breathing. When Trixie does sit up again, she reaches for Katya’s hand and laces their fingers together.

“I’m really happy you came, Katya.”

She blinks hard a couple of times and her mouth opens. Too late, Trixie realises what she’s done, what she’s said. She’s wide awake now, her heart pounding in the base of her throat, but Katya lets it drop. Trixie feels spreadeagled, pinned in place at the wrists and ankles, but Katya smiles very softly and squeezes her hand.

“I’m really happy you asked me to. This is fun, I’m having fun. With you.”

Trixie wrinkles her nose. “Are you going to continue to have fun even though we’re watching a Disney movie?”

The groan that Katya lets out is loud and dramatic enough that it makes Pearl call out to them from the kitchen to check that Trixie isn’t murdering her. Trixie slaps her hand over Katya’s mouth before she can answer, and says, “Everything’s fine, Pearl! Zamo just hates fun and joy.”

Trixie starts the movie playing and Pearl comes back with a huge bowl of popcorn, Tati following along behind her with two mugs of hot cocoa. They settle on the floor in front of the couch, and Katya pulls her legs up onto it to make space. She took off her thigh high boots a little while ago and she has mismatched socks on, one black and one red.

When they hear the opening score of the movie, Kim and Naomi come hurtling out into the living room with their arms full of all of the blankets and pillows from Kim’s bed.

“Are you starting without us?” Kim says to Trixie, and jabs an accusatory finger in her direction.

Trixie lets out a little yell and makes like she’s going to hide behind Katya, who brings her arm up to shield her from Kim’s hostility. Tati asks if she can grab stuff from Trixie’s room too and she sighs loudly, but she agrees to it as long as she gets the pink fuzzy blanket for herself.

Everybody is talking all at once while they get settled on the floor in the nest they’ve built. Trixie reaches down to unbuckle her own shoes and takes them off, pulls her stocking feet up onto the couch as well. She and Katya have gotten the best spot and everybody knows it, but she doesn’t think anyone’s going to try to challenge them. Tati passes Trixie her blanket and she does her best to spread it out over herself and Katya. It isn’t huge, but Katya tucks herself in close against Trixie’s side and rests her cheek against her shoulder.

“Have you seen this one before?” Trixie says. Kim turns over her shoulder to glare at her and she mouths an apology at her.

“Oh, god, I don’t know. Once you’ve seen one of them you’ve seen them all, wouldn’t you say?”

“You don’t _have_ to watch it. You’re not a prisoner.” Trixie waits a beat. “You should be though, you villain.”

Beneath the blanket, Katya rests her hand at Trixie’s thigh. It’s spread wide but it doesn’t nearly encircle the whole width of it. Trixie is wearing stockings and she’s so glad; even just the thought of Katya’s warm hand against her bare skin is too much, makes her crazy.

She darts a very small glance at Trixie from the corner of her eye that Trixie pretends not to see. She’s her best friend. Sometimes, Trixie is able to convince herself that Katya might feel the same way, but she’s too afraid of losing her to push it. It’s the only thing that keeps her from dragging Katya into her lap and kissing her the way she’s wanted to for almost three years.

They do their best to be considerate of the others on the floor in front of them, but Trixie can’t help whispering stupid jokes right into Katya’s ear just to see her try to contain her wheezing laughter. Whenever Trixie’s ass starts to get a little numb and she shifts, Katya shifts right with her.

After maybe forty minutes, Trixie starts to get sleepy again. She was up early to help Kim clean before they both worked a full day today. Having Katya next to her is making her feel warm and safe. For a little while, she tries to keep her eyes open, but eventually she gives up and lays down completely with her head in Katya’s lap. Katya’s hand slides into her hair immediately and her fingers sift gently through it, massaging her scalp a little bit. It’s going to make her roots oily but she doesn’t even care, she’s got dry shampoo and she can wear it in a ponytail tomorrow.

Trixie is walking right along the edge of sleep without allowing herself to fall in all the way. Every five minutes or so she peels her eyes open just to check the progress of the movie and sees Katya’s bare knees right in front of her. She’s a bit self-conscious about them, likes to clack them together on the subway and say _knick-knock knick-knock_ very loudly to see if it makes anyone move away from them. In her half-awake state, Trixie almost touches her lips to one of them before she remembers. That’s not something that they do.

The end credits wake Trixie up a little bit, but not enough to actually open her eyes. She allows herself to drift in and out of consciousness and listens more to the intonations of her friends’ voices than the actual words. Katya eases herself out from beneath Trixie and tucks the blanket up around her shoulders.

 _Yeah, sure, I’m just gonna_ , she hears somebody say, and then a moment later she is vaguely aware of a presence in front of her, blocking out all the light from the television screen. Three fingers come to her cheek and the voice says her name. Her eyes open.

 _Oh_. She smiles, feeling on her own face how dopey it is, and blinks a couple times. _Katya_.

“Hey there, sleepy girl,” Katya says very quietly. Her hand is still on Trixie’s face. It keeps her anchored to the earth so she doesn’t fall off into sleep again. “I’m going to go home now. You should get into bed, your neck’s gonna hurt.”

Trixie stretches out along the length of the couch and grunts when her feet hit the armrest way before her knees are straight. Her eyes are closed again, but she can feel Katya looking at her still. It feels good, it feels so domestic that it makes her warm all over. It makes her want to throw open all the windows in the apartment and feed Katya little tastes from the end of her spoon, their two bodies pressed together in the narrow kitchen.

“M’comfy.”

“I know, _malyshka_.” Katya’s voice is so gentle, and Trixie can smell her shampoo where she’s leaning over her. It would be so easy, to wind her arms around Katya’s neck and draw her down and kiss her. “Come on, I’ll help you.”

She gets one arm beneath Trixie somehow and lifts her. Trixie lets herself have one moment to be a baby, one moment in which she rests her head against Katya’s shoulder and whines, and then she opens her eyes and sits herself up the rest of the way. Katya is smiling softly at her, and she keeps her arm around Trixie’s waist for the walk to her bedroom.

It feels good to be taken care of. It’s so good, to stand in the middle of her room and sway a little bit while Katya figures out how to get her dress off. She says _arms up, sweetheart_ and Trixie lifts them like a marionette, her wrists limp. Katya pulls the dress over her head, and helps her put on her big t-shirt. She can’t help the shiver that rips through her when Katya reaches up beneath her shirt to unhook her bra, and helps her feed her arms through the straps so she can get it all the way off.

“You need to brush your teeth and wash your face,” Katya says gently.

Just the thought of that makes Trixie want to start crying. One hot, fat tear escapes anyway, and Katya catches it with her thumb. “Okay, okay, I’m sorry. Never mind,” she says, and peels back the sheets to put Trixie into bed. All of the blankets and pillows are back, now. Everybody must have picked them up while she was dozing. Katya sits carefully on the edge of the mattress and brushes Trixie’s hair back out of her face, tugs the blanket up over her shoulders. She’s so cosy and all of her sheets smell like Katya. It makes her chest ache.

It’s late, late enough that time has kind of stopped existing altogether. Trixie’s head feels fuzzy, and she lifts it off the pillow for a second and grapples around clumsily until Katya takes pity on her and reaches for her hand.

“It’s spooky late.” Her voice is still coming out so soft and slurry. “You’ll be okay?”

Katya huffs a little breath and touches her free hand to Trixie’s cheek again. “Yes. Everyone is waiting for me downstairs. Tati assures me that she _will stab a bitch_ , if it comes to it. But I don’t think it will, since we’re all sharing a cab.”

“Text me when you’re back safe.”

“You’ll be out cold,” Katya says, and it sounds all soft and fond because she’s still smiling. “You’re gonna be asleep before I even get down the stairs, Trixabelle.”

Trixie closes her eyes again and nuzzles her face into the pillow. She doesn’t want Katya to go; something feels like it almost, almost happened tonight. Like it still could, if Katya would stay here and lay in Trixie’s bed and hold her. But Trixie feels warm with certainty, and she would like to be all the way awake for when it happens for real.

“M’kay. Bye.”

She feels something very soft and a little wet against her cheek, feels the tiny sigh that Katya lets out. For a moment, Trixie can allow herself to imagine that Katya is kissing her goodbye before an early morning yoga class or leaving to open the store, and that she’ll get to see her later and kiss her good morning properly.

“Goodnight, Trix,” Katya whispers to her, and she hears the _snick_ of her door opening and then closing again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm on [tumblr](https://katiehoughton.tumblr.com/) and [twitter](https://twitter.com/reallybeanie), if you want to chat! i hope that you're all safe and well ♡


	10. narcissus pseudonarcissus.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks as always to the polycule for being so kind and supportive. and of course, [stutter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/stutter). thank you, my love, for everything you do for me. i'm so grateful, i'm so lucky.

Trixie startles awake just before her alarm begins beeping and sits bolt upright in her bed, disoriented by the daylight spilling in. She never closed her blinds last night, and her room is bright with the rising sun glinting off the windows of the building opposite, warm and orange. She scrubs both hands over her face and flops back down to the mattress again, rubbing her legs together beneath the sheets like a cricket.

She has a not-enough-sleep taste inside her mouth, fuzzy because she went to bed without brushing her teeth last night. Which. . . she did that in front of Katya. It’s all resurfacing, how needy she was, how she wept like a small child and had to be put to bed.

When she checks her phone, there’s a text from Katya timestamped a little after two in the morning. _Home safe!_ it says, and there’s a photograph attached, a selfie of Katya sprawled on top of her sheets still in full party geish.

Trixie starts to compose an apology for last night but she isn’t yet quite awake enough to be able to say it with any grace, any scrap of her dignity left intact. Instead she locks her phone and turns it face down on the nightstand, like she doesn’t want it to look at her.

On her way to the bathroom, Trixie pokes her head around Kim’s bedroom door. She has the day off work and she’s sacked out on her stomach with the sheets pulled up to her eyes. Next to her, stretched out almost diagonally to accommodate her outrageous legs, is Naomi. Trixie hovers in the doorway a little longer than she probably should, looking at them. She’s been so caught up in her own drama that she’s never even asked Kim if there’s something more between Naomi and her.

She feels hot and prickly all over this morning, like a bad poison oak rash. She shouldn’t be this completely unable to hide the way that she feels. And if everyone else knows, if everyone else gives her those awful, compassionate, pitying looks, then Katya must know too. Katya is smart and intuitive and unafraid to let people into her wide-open heart.

Trixie spends a long time sitting on the floor of the shower with the water pounding onto her shins. Her head feels too full and she rests it against the tile. There’s a little crack in the shower head that directs a runnel of water sideways and down the wall and Trixie watches it for a while. She washes her face and her fingers come away grimy and smudged with the last remnants of her eyeliner.

She showed her hand last night. They’d been clingy and conspiratorial, their heads bent together to talk quietly. Trixie had hardly let Katya stray from her side the whole party. This morning, she feels small and ashamed.

When she gets to Prick — an hour later than they usually open — she feels a little shy around Raja. She and Raven had been some of the first to leave, hadn’t been there at the end of the evening, but she had seen how Trixie oriented towards Katya the moment she came in the door. Everybody did. Trixie is fidgety with humiliation, and Raja immediately sends her back out to get coffee. She takes her time at Irving Farm, gets an iced tea for herself and an iced coffee for Raja, a bagel too to sweeten her up.

While she’s waiting in line, she pulls up her conversation with Katya again. There’s no good morning text. Trixie hasn’t known her to sleep past eight in the morning _ever_ so she’s certainly awake by now. Technically, since the last message was from Katya, it’s her turn to respond. She just can’t bear it if Katya ignores her, or if Katya pretends that nothing happened last night. She closes the conversation again without typing anything and puts her phone away to free up her hands for the drinks carrier.

The morning is busy, as it often is on a Saturday. Trixie has three piercings back-to-back before a tattoo appointment. It helps to center her, doing something she’s good at. Having something else to focus on. Right before her tattoo client comes in, she manages to squeeze in five minutes for Raja to change out her septum ring again. There’s no reason she couldn’t do it herself, but it feels good to lay back in the chair and close her eyes, to have someone else take care of it for her. It’s going to make her nose ache for the rest of the day, but the new ring has a delicate pearl detail.

At lunchtime, Trixie is sitting at the counter updating the studio’s social media accounts when Katya pokes her head around the door. It makes her so suddenly bashful that she stands up for no reason at all and wrings her hands uselessly. Raja casts her a quizzical look but says nothing.

“Hey, Raja,” Katya says, and Raja says hello back. When Katya turns to look at Trixie her face does something strange, gets kind of twisty, and she says, “Trixabelle. Could I steal a moment of your precious time and talk to you outside?”

Trixie swallows roughly. She knows she was being a baby last night, being a brat if she’s honest with herself. It’s not a quality of hers that she prides herself on, and she starts preparing to hear that Katya wants nothing to do with her anymore. She follows Katya out the front door and down the street, so that none of their colleagues can see them.

They come to a halt outside 82nd Street Grocery, on the corner of the block. Katya stands beneath the red awning, the flowers in their tiered rows of buckets at her back, and shades her eyes with her hand. Trixie’s gaze gets caught on the bees moving in lazy, bumbling patterns among the flowers’ enormous, drooping heads. When she looks back at Katya she relaxes a tiny bit. Katya doesn’t look mad. There’s a little crease between her eyebrows, a squiggle that Trixie wants to smooth away with the pad of her thumb, but that could just be from the glare of the sun.

“Hey,” Katya starts.

It makes Trixie snort a laugh without even thinking about it, and she says, “Hey. Weirdo.”

Katya’s free hand is jammed into the pocket of her striped overalls and Trixie can see her clenching and unclenching her fist inside. “I wanted to apologise. For last night. I. . . crossed a line, maybe? I think so, yeah.” She nods, and drops her eyes to the sidewalk. “I think I did.”

“What? When?” Trixie hates to feel two steps behind in a conversation, and Katya never normally allows her to. She’s always right there, holding out her hand and tugging Trixie along with her. “Please explain immediately.”

“I was, um-” Katya rakes a rough hand through her hair and encounters a tangle that makes her hiss through her teeth. “Fuck. This is- humiliating. All of the, uh, the flirting? Hmm. Yeah. I should’ve read your signals better.”

An exhaustion headache has been threatening all day and it blooms now, sudden and vivid purple right behind Trixie’s left eye. She pinches her nose, which does nothing except make it travel up into her forehead and across to her ear.

“Zamo. What.” Trixie opens her eyes again. “You were flirting with me?”

Katya shrieks in a way that is loud and unwelcome, and much closer to hysterical than it usually sounds. “I’ve been flirting with you for _weeks_ , Trixie. God, you’re the worst.”

All of Trixie’s organs tumble down into the pit of her stomach and she stares at Katya open-mouthed. She’s been brushing it off, explaining it away as Katya’s sweet, tactile nature. They’re friends, close friends. All this time, Trixie has had Kim’s voice in the back of her head.

_She’s generous with her affection. I don’t want you to read that as something it’s not._

“You have?”

“ _Yes_.” Katya lifts her eyes to Trixie’s face, finally. She has two twin spots of lovely pink in her cheeks, and Trixie can see now that her bottom lip is raw where she’s chewed it. “I sure suck at it, apparently.”

Trixie makes a small, desperate noise. It seems so absurd to be doing this in the middle of the day, in the middle of the street, and she very nearly starts laughing. “But I’m not. . . I’m-”

“What?”

“I’m not Violet. I’m not like her.”

Katya stares at her for a moment like they’re meeting for the very first time and she doesn’t really know what to do with her yet. “Uh, good?” she says slowly and carefully, like she's explaining the concept of mortality to a child. “I broke up with Violet.”

“Wait, can we-” Trixie clears her throat. A particularly enormous bee, its legs fuzzy with yellow-orange pollen, drifts like a blimp close to Katya’s head, and Trixie takes an awkward, stumbling half-step backwards. “I have to backtrack,” she says, and Katya lifts an eyebrow. “Why are you apologising?”

“I pushed way too far and I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, ever. God, Trix, this is- you’re-” Katya waves her hands in the space between their bodies like that’s sufficient, like that’s an explanation, which it absolutely is not.

Trixie reaches for them, grabs them right out of the air and squeezes. “Why would I be uncomfortable?”

“Because you don’t want to be flirted with? Not by me.”

She doesn’t mean to do it, but Trixie laughs, and it makes Katya’s face get pinched around the edges with hurt. Trixie squeezes her hands a little tighter. “What are you talking about? Have you gone absolutely insane? Are you a Pod Person?”

“Trixie-”

“No, shush.” She shakes their joined hands. None of this feels like real life, but the sun is hot on the back of her neck and it’s making her feel crazy, but also sort of brave. “I want to be flirted with. By you, specifically and exclusively.”

It’s Katya’s turn to stare, slack-jawed. Trixie can see all the way inside of her mouth and she lets herself have a couple seconds to get distracted by the wet pink of her tongue and her stupid perfect teeth. She can feel how Katya’s pulse is insistent and hot in her wrists.

“You do?”

“Zamo,” Trixie says on a laugh, and then, just to see, “Katya.”

Something a little like sunlight moves over Katya’s face when Trixie says her first name. She’s wearing her usual red lip today but the application isn’t quite so perfect. The midday sun makes her white-blonde hair luminescent, in waves against her cheeks. Her mouth closes, and Trixie stares at her full lips for a little longer than she maybe should.

“I just- I’m sorry, I don’t have any game. I’m so out of practice.” Katya shakes her head at herself and it makes a rogue curl fall into her eyes. Trixie sweeps it aside very gently and tucks it back behind her ear. It makes Katya hum a small sigh, and she says, “You like me?”

Trixie smiles so big she feels the goofy way her face scrunches up with it. “I like you _so much_. I can’t believe that you like _me_.”

“Have you _seen you_?” Katya squawks at her, loud enough that it makes a woman walking past them turn over her shoulder and look. It feels absurd to be having this conversation on the sidewalk at one of the busiest times of day for foot traffic, but nothing else about their relationship has ever been conventional.

Trixie touches her hand to the back of her neck to make sure she’s not getting a sunburn. Now that she’s really looking, now that she’s letting herself hope, she sees how Katya watches her fondly. How she has a tiny, soft smile that’s just for Trixie.

“What signals did you think I was sending?” It comes out more accusatory than Trixie really means it to. She just wants to be sure, so that she can be careful not to ever do it again. It keeps hitting her over and over again. Katya’s been flirting with her, Katya _likes her_. Every time, she gets a strange swooping sensation low down in her stomach and she feels so giddy she wants to laugh out loud.

“I tucked you into your bed and you let me just walk away.”

Trixie screams, and it veers a little more towards hysteria than usual. “I was _asleep_.”

“Okay, okay, okay.” Katya shakes both fists around in the air like she hopes that will shut Trixie up. “It doesn’t matter anymore. I’m sorry. Okay. You’re right. That’s stupid.”

“ _Yeah_.”

Neither of them says anything more. Trixie can’t stop looking at Katya. She has a little smudge of mascara below her right eye, and she keeps fiddling with her earring, and the strap of her loose, oversized overalls is too big and falling off one shoulder. She’s looking at Trixie, too, and she keeps pressing her lips together like she thinks that’ll hide her smile.

“What do we do now?” Trixie asks. She’s never done this before, because she’s never done this with _Katya_ before. Everything’s different.

Katya takes her hand again and holds it tight in both of hers. As usual, they’re much warmer than Trixie’s, and a little more calloused since she works with them all day. So does Trixie, but it’s not the same. Whenever she’s thought about this, actually telling Katya how she feels, her stomach has twisted uncomfortably and she’s broken out in a sweat. Now that it’s happening, she feels calm and serene and ready.

“I would really like to take you out, Trixabelle.” A woman coming out of the convenience store is looking at the paper grocery bag in her arms instead of where she’s going, and she almost crashes right into Katya. She yelps, and Katya steadies her with a hand at her elbow and apologises, presses herself back against the rows of flowers out of the way. Once the path is clear again, Katya hooks her hands around the buckles of her overall straps like a little kid, and says, “Would that be okay?”

Trixie keeps her face carefully neutral. “Like on a date? Or is this a murder situation.”

“I’ll do either. What’s your preference?”

That makes Trixie laugh, one short, loud _cacaw_ , and then she says, “How about a combination of both?”

“Oh, totally, I can do that. I’d like to do that. Can we do that?”

“Ugh, god, if we have to,” Trixie says, to disguise how badly she’s wanted to hear that. How long she’s waited. It makes Katya wheeze out a laugh, and she reaches for Trixie’s hand again and grips it so tightly. Trixie doesn’t want to spoil things, she really doesn’t, but she needs to know before they get started. “Why now? And. . . why me?”

Katya pauses for a moment, really considering her answer. The smell of all of the grocery store flowers out here is unpleasantly cloying, not at all like inside Nightshade. People are eating out on the tiny patio in front of the Thai place next door, where Trixie sometimes picks up lunch, but the sounds of glassware and cutlery scraping are muffled by her heartbeat, insistent in her ears.

“Getting close with you made me realise everything I was missing, with Violet,” Katya says quietly. “Made me realise how nice it is to be, like, cared for.” Trixie scrunches her face up and Katya laughs. “I know, I know, disgusting. But. . . still true.”

Trixie still thinks about that night, holding Katya and hearing her say that she wants somebody she gets to see every day. She hadn’t allowed herself to hope, then, and it still feels dangerous now. “I do care about you, very much.”

“And why you?” Katya tilts her head to the side and considers Trixie. “You’re kind. You’re smart and funny and brave. There’s no one who makes me laugh like you do. There’s no one I like spending time with more. And you’re so beautiful. And your tits are so huge.”

Trixie chokes on the tenderness that had begun to well up inside of her and laughs loud and raucous. “Shut up, oh my god. You’re disgusting.”

“Uh-huh.” Katya is wriggling with amusement and pleasure and she nods a couple times.

Another customer coming out of the convenience store almost crashes into them, again. The owner is going to come out any minute and yell at them for cluttering up his small section of the sidewalk. They should really get back to work themselves anyway. Trixie holds out her hand for Katya to take and they clasp them loosely so they can walk, and Trixie starts leading her back down the block towards their stores.

Right before they’re going to be in Jinkx’s eye line, Trixie stops walking again and Katya does too, very suddenly and with a jerk on the end of Trixie’s arm. She’s gotten used to having Katya on her left, always right there, but something has shifted. Katya’s making little circles with her thumb against the back of Trixie’s hand.

“You’re so gorgeous, Katya.” Trixie waits a beat for her to start smiling. “I mean, for a recently reanimated corpse. Low bar, you know?”

Katya snatches her hand out of Trixie’s and holds both of her fists up in front of her like she thinks Trixie might follow up her verbal attack with a physical one. She’s shifting her weight from foot to foot like a prizefighter, up on her toes but still totally balanced.

“I have to go to work now. So do you,” Katya says very sternly, and then she drops her arms to her sides and shrugs. “Not that I’ll get anything done today. I’m just gonna be thinking about you. And planning our date. When is your next availability, Miss Mattel?”

“Tonight?” Trixie blurts.

Katya’s whole face comes alight and her smile stretches gleefully wide. “ _Really_? Well. Someone’s eager.”

“Do you really want to give me time to ruminate on how rotted you are?” Trixie says sweetly.

It makes Katya crack up, that hacking laugh that Trixie likes so much even if it makes the two of them insufferable to be around for anybody else. “I surely do not. Okay. Tonight, then. I can’t wait.”

“Me neither,” Trixie says softly.

They look at each other then, neither of them sure quite what to do. It’s not uncomfortable, but it is a little strange. Eventually Katya holds her hand out for Trixie to shake, which she does even while she’s giggling and calling Katya a weirdo.

Inside Prick, Raja lifts her head when Trixie comes through the door and arches an eyebrow. “Hey. What’s wrong with you, why’s your face so red?”

“Um. Nothing’s wrong. I’m fine.”

Trixie feels very jittery still, full up with nervous energy she needs an outlet for. She grabs a soft cloth from beneath the front desk and heads to start dusting all of the jewellery in the cabinets. It helps to keep her hands busy and she starts to calm down a bit, even though she can still feel Raja staring at her.

“Do I need to go ask Katya what’s the matter with you?”

“No!” Trixie cries out, and whips around to point an accusatory finger. “Don’t do that. Do not go ask Katya.”

Raja comes around the counter then and rests her hand at Trixie’s shoulder. She has a very calming energy. It's what makes her so good at her job, and why Trixie likes working with her so much. She and Pearl are both that way. They never yell, or scream, or speak too quickly, and Trixie needs that. “Did you have a fight?”

“Mm-mm.” Trixie shakes her head. She feels like a little kid, getting scolded in school for speaking without being asked, Beatrice Mattel. “No. We didn’t fight.”

“Okay,” Raja says easily. She doesn’t push, seems quite happy to let it drop. If Pearl were here, she’d fix Trixie with that aloof, heavy-lidded stare that makes Trixie want to spill all of her secrets to try to win her approval. Thinking about that, Trixie finds that she does sort of want to talk about it.

“She asked if she can take me on a date.”

Raja makes a small noise, not exactly startled but something close to it. “Just out of the blue?”

“No, she apologised for hitting on me at the party last night. I told her she didn’t need to apologise for that. Then she asked me.”

“You two always have to do things the most unconventional way, huh?” Raja says, but she’s smiling a little bit even as she shakes her head. Trixie feels like she’s been blushing for the last half hour. “That’s great, hon. Finally. I’m happy for you.”

Trixie is still fidgety, and she shifts her weight and picks at her cuticles and can’t quite manage to look at Raja. “Yeah, well, it’s just a first date, you know? I don’t want to get too carried away.”

“Girl, please.” Raja scoffs. “You two have been building up to this for months. It’s a lot more than just a random first date and you know it.”

“I really like her.” Trixie lifts her eyes to Raja’s and doesn’t bother to hide her smile. “I like her so much.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you can find me on [tumblr](https://katiehoughton.tumblr.com/) and [twitter](https://twitter.com/reallybeanie)! i'd especially love to hear what you thought of this one. i hope you're all taking care of yourselves ♡


	11. helianthus annuus.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks as always to the polycule, for supporting me and loving me no matter what. and of course, [stutter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/stutter). you go above and beyond for me every time, and i'm so grateful. i love you.

The idea that Trixie might get any work done at all the rest of today seems absurd. She’s glad to be here and not at home agonising over what to wear and counting down the minutes until tonight, grateful not to have the chance to get too in her head about the whole situation.

Trixie loves to prep for dates. She loves the theatre of it all, spending the entire day luxuriating in her own self. She gives herself permission to use her fanciest products, blows her hair out into enormous soft peachy curls, takes her time with her makeup. The whole process is meditative; it’s how she gets into the right headspace to be her brightest, most charming self. It’s been a long time since she’s gotten the chance. She tells herself — she tells Monét and Kim — that she’s far too busy for dating, couldn’t possibly make room for another person inside her life. And it’s true. The only person she would ever want to make room for is already in her life, taking up space, hacking a wheezing laugh, running in joyful circles.

She has some shyness around the way that she looks today, a bit hungover and her hair unwashed. But Katya’s seen her already, saw her out on the street in the daylight, and she still wants to take her out. She still _wants_ her. The way it felt to say her name, her first name, has Trixie pink in the cheeks and reeling around the room all afternoon. She keeps fidgeting, inventing tasks for herself just to keep her hands busy. Raja has been texting her wife about it, Trixie’s pretty sure, but she doesn’t say anything. When they get a walk-in for a scaffold piercing and Trixie enthusiastically volunteers to take it, Raja is kind enough to let her have it, even though piercings are usually her responsibility when she’s here.

Trixie gets their client settled in the chair, and on her way to fetch the newly-sterilised jewellery and equipment from the autoclave she pokes her head out of the hallway and says, “Thank you for, like, being patient with me today.”

“Honey,” Raja says gently, and looks up from the computer screen. Her glasses are perched at the end of her nose and she stares Trixie down over the top of them. “Raven and I have been married nearly fifteen years, but I haven’t forgotten a single minute of our first date. I think it’s really sweet, seeing you like this.”

“Right. Yeah. Uh- thanks?” Trixie says, and scatters out of the hallway before she has to suffer any further mortification.

She had been way too anxious to eat lunch, and later in the afternoon she laps the block a couple times to work off some of her nervous energy. It’s the good kind of nervous, the kind that she can persuade herself is excitement if she really tries. It doesn’t feel like it’s a bad thing to be a little anxious. It means she cares.

As she’s coming through the front door of Prick, Trixie’s phone vibrates in her pocket and she pulls it out to look. _i cant stop thinking about how im gonna get to kiss you later_ , Katya has texted her, and then three brain emojis. It makes her face feel hot immediately and it travels all the way down the column of her neck, and up into her ears. She’s radiating warmth like a bad sunburn.

Maybe it’s foolish. Katya is next door; Trixie could go and kiss her right now, if she wanted. Could walk in and take her hand and lead her out of the fire door at the back of the store, back her up against the brick and kiss her until she turns liquid. She wants to, she’s been thinking about it too, for months. It doesn’t seem right, not after waiting such a long time. She wants to be romanced, however that might look with Katya. She wants them to be able to take their time.

 _Go do some work_ , Trixie sends back, and then, _But don’t stop thinking about it_. She refrains from sending a flurry of pink heart emojis, just barely. It feels like she can see right through the shared wall to Katya smiling down at the screen of her own phone, maybe perched at the edge of the tall stool behind the arranging counter, Jinkx leaning over her shoulder to snoop and tease her about it.

Her last appointment of the day runs a little longer than she anticipated, because the guy asks her a couple times if they can take a break. She obliges, always grateful when people speak up rather than suffering through and then passing out on her. When she’s done sterilising everything and the studio is tidied she heads outside and finds Katya waiting for her, leaning against the brick edifice of the building they share.

Her bangs are fluffy and her hair is big from running her fingers through it all day. She has one knee bent and her foot flat against the wall, and she’s twisting the strap of her backpack around and through her fingers while she waits.

She looks beautiful, Trixie thinks, and she says, “You could have come inside, you weirdo.”

Katya grins. “I wanted to be chivalrous and collect you from your workplace.”

She offers her hand and Trixie takes it, lacing her fingers through Katya’s. She’s sure her palms are unpleasantly clammy, but Katya is gracious enough not to mention it. She swings their clasped hands between them as they walk. Trixie isn’t great at relinquishing control, but she trusts Katya. Trusts her enough that she let her figure out their date without grilling her about it even once. She doesn’t know anything more than that they’re going to spend the evening together, and that Katya is going to kiss her at the end of it.

“So how was your day, honey?” Katya asks, and there’s a little tug of mischief at one corner of her mouth.

Trixie shrieks and tries to snatch out of Katya’s grip, but she won’t let her have her hand back. “Don’t _do that_.”

“Don’t do what?” Katya feigns confusion, but her face is wry and conspiratorial. “Ask you an extremely polite and unassuming question about your day?”

“You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

Katya double-squeezes Trixie’s fingers in hers, and launches into an anecdote about her own work day. While she talks, they head west towards the Hudson, and Katya leads them to the greenway. Dusk is beginning to roll in across the water and all of the lights are coming on in Jersey one by one. When they make it to the dog run at Riverside Park Katya lets Trixie stop them and they lean against the fence to watch the dogs run around for a little while. Katya has her arm slung low around Trixie, two fingers tucked into the waistband of her pink slacks to keep it there, and Trixie leans in to her side.

“You see that one right there?” Katya says, and tips her head in the direction of a lovely white Saluki that has sauntered close to the fence. “Her name is Vasilisa. Her owner was an eccentric old _velichestvennaya prestarelaya dama_.” Trixie grunts at the unexpected stream of Russian and Katya laughs, says, “Like, a dowager? Anyway, once she passed away Vasilisa had to be rehomed. Now she lives with a fussy pair of gay bachelors who won’t admit that they’ve been in love the entire time. They pretend the dog is the reason they have to continue living together, but really it’s because they couldn’t survive apart.”

“Hmm,” Trixie says agreeably. Katya goes on, inventing a name and a backstory for several of the other dogs. She gets more and more absurd as she goes on, and some of the owners within earshot shoot them curious looks. Trixie never imagined she’d end up with somebody so perfectly odd.

After a little while, Katya says, “I didn’t plan anything for dinner, because I wasn’t sure what you’d want and I don’t eat.”

Trixie huffs a laugh at that and rests her head against Katya’s shoulder. It’s a bit uncomfortable, since she’s taller than Katya is, but it’s worth the strain in her neck. “I’m not really hungry yet. Let’s just walk?” she says.

It’s a warm night, the heat of the day still rising up from the tarmac, but gooseflesh erupts up and down the lengths of Trixie’s bare arms whenever she catches a glimpse of Katya from the corner of her eye. She’s so pretty in the half-light and she has this small, soft smile that she turns towards Trixie every now and then.

From the very start, conversation has flowed easily between them. Trixie listens to Katya talk and only interrupts five or six times. Even after all this time, the novelty of making her laugh hasn’t worn off. Katya offers laughter like it’s a reward, her head tipped back and her eyes scrunched closed so that Trixie has to steer her out of the path of a cyclist a couple times.

When they get to the wooden seating area at the park, Katya tugs on their joined hands and leads Trixie to sit. They’re sideways on one of the lounger-style seats, because Trixie is not in a place right now where she trusts herself to recline next to Katya.

Katya tucks Trixie’s hair back behind her ear and leaves her hand there, cradling the side of Trixie’s face. She looks so lovely, soft and open and peaceful. Trixie likes getting to see her be calm, and she feels calm now too even though she’s been nervous all day. She wants this so badly, wants Katya so much.

“You’re so beautiful,” Katya tells her. “Trixie. Can I kiss you now? I really want to kiss you.”

The kiss has already started, while they’ve been talking, because Trixie hasn’t really been listening to Katya. She’s just been thinking about kissing her. She gives a tiny, tiny nod and Katya leans in. There’s a swooping sensation in her stomach like falling in a dream, but as soon as their lips touch Trixie just feels calm and certain. Katya is kissing her. Her lips are so soft and she smells like herself: sunscreen, lemon shampoo, the green smell of a snapped stem. Her thumb draws little circles just in front of Trixie’s ear, and a small shiver of pleasure runs through Trixie. She feels Katya’s tongue against her bottom lip and opens to her, lets her inside. Katya kisses her slow and careful, her other hand at Trixie’s thigh. All of the noise of the city melts away and Trixie sighs into Katya’s mouth. She’s thought about this for such a long time that now that it’s actually happening, it doesn’t feel real.

Katya is the one to break it, when it’s time to break it. She murmurs, “Wow,” against Trixie’s mouth, and then pulls back to swipe the pad of her thumb across Trixie’s bottom lip. Her hand stays there, just resting. She has that little squiggle between her eyebrows that she gets when she’s trying to figure out the neatest way to explain something. Trixie has only ever seen Katya angry when she feels she’s been misunderstood. Trixie stays quiet and gives her the space to figure it out, whatever it is.

“Can I tell you something?” she whispers eventually, and Trixie manages a tiny _mm-hmm_. “I don’t think that we should have sex right away. Surely not tonight, anyway.” Trixie’s mouth drops open, and Katya hurries to keep talking. “I mean- I do _want to_. God, Trixie, I- I want to so bad. You’re so- I’m- I just don’t think it’s a great idea. Is that okay?”

“Are you trying to romance me, Yekaterina?” Trixie grins, and leans in for another small kiss before Katya can answer. She doesn’t allow herself to be swept up in it, doesn’t slick her tongue into Katya’s mouth or let her hands slide down to Katya’s waist. “That’s okay. I think that’s good.”

“Okay, great!” Katya says brightly, and she nods so many times it starts to look like she needs to have her internal mechanism rewound.

Her lipstick is the tiniest bit smudged, but not enough that anyone else would be able to tell. Trixie’s pretty sure she doesn’t have any of it on her, but she swipes the pads of two fingers over her mouth just to be sure. They come away clean. She’s looking forward to Katya leaving little red kiss prints all over her cheeks and mouth and neck, someday soon.

“That was really nice,” Trixie says very softly. “I really like kissing you.”

“Duh! I’m super good at it, so.” Katya grins and flips her hair back behind herself, shimmies her shoulders.

Trixie keeps her face neutral, says, “Okay.”

Katya gets gentle around the edges, and she says, “I really, really like kissing you, too. You’re so soft.”

She leans in again, and this time Trixie remembers to actively participate. She’s glad to be sitting down, but she’s looking forward to getting to kiss Katya standing up. And first thing in the morning, and last thing at night. Trixie is trying so hard not to push for too much too fast and freak Katya out, but she’s not that kind of person. She can’t stop thinking about their life together and what it might look like.

“What’s wrong?” Trixie says when they separate. Katya can’t quite meet her eyes, and she’s tapping her feet against the ground like it’s taking all she’s got not to get up and work off some of that frantic energy.

“I don’t know if I’m, like, gonna be any good at this. You know what I mean? I’m not historically great at all the relationship stuff, Trix.”

Her gaze is fixed firmly on her own feet. She looks so small and afraid and Trixie hates it. She wraps her arm around Katya’s shoulders and tucks her in against her side, kisses the crown of her head. She can smell Katya’s shampoo and still, every time, it makes her feel intoxicated with intimacy.

It’s easier to say all of the things she wants to say when she doesn’t have to look at Katya’s face. “I’m so grateful for the fact that you exist. I don’t need anything more from you than that.”

“You need commitment,” Katya blurts. “And I don’t know if I can-”

“Oh wow,” Trixie cuts her off. “People don’t typically dive right into an existential crisis five minutes after kissing me. It usually takes a couple months, at least.”

Katya laughs, which is all Trixie hoped for, and she sits up to look at Trixie again. “I guess what we have is different.”

“It is,” Trixie says, with a little more sincerity than she means to allow to creep in. “We’re different. We’ve already been committed to each other, haven’t we? We’ve already been in a relationship. Everything’s the same, there’s just added making out.”

That makes Katya laugh again and she reaches for Trixie, pulls her in close with her hands at her cheeks. They kiss for a long, indulgent moment until a jogger goes past and startles them both, makes them break apart.

“Do you wanna maybe keep walking?” Katya asks, and Trixie nods.

She lets Katya help her up and keeps hold of her hand when they start walking again, back in the direction that they came from. Trixie feels a bit giddy, now that it’s finally happening, and she’s only half-listening to Katya’s anecdotes from her day. Mostly she’s focusing on how warm Katya’s hand is in hers and how tight she’s holding on, and that if she wanted to she could stop her right now and kiss her again.

She wants to.

Katya huffs out a small, surprised noise when Trixie stops walking, but it dissolves into a sigh of contentment when Trixie draws her in close with her arm around Katya’s waist. It’s a little different like this, different having to lean down, but Katya lifts her chin into it and hums into Trixie’s mouth. They’re in the middle of the walkway but it’s not too busy yet, and anyway, Trixie doesn’t care if it inconveniences some straight person.

She likes feeling Katya’s body pressed against hers, how responsive she is and the muscles in her stomach and thighs keeping her balanced. It doesn’t really feel like real life, still. Katya wants to kiss her, Katya _wants_ her. They’re going to be something.

Trixie’s stomach rumbles and their bodies are so close that Katya feels it and breaks out of their kiss to laugh at her. “Trixabelle, honey, if you need me to feed you, you just gotta ask. You wanna go grab dinner?”

Trixie would like to say no, and walk along the river a little more, but she _is_ hungry. And she likes the sound of that, Katya taking care of her. “Isn’t it convenient that our date has fallen on the one day in the month when you eat?” she says sweetly, and Katya screams at her.

They walk along 75th to Sweetgreen and get a bowl each. Katya stands at the counter with one hand in the back pocket of Trixie’s slacks and orders for both of them. She remembers to ask for them to swap out the cilantro in Trixie’s salad for tomatoes. Whenever she gets to hear Katya like this, talking to a cashier or a restaurant server or a stranger on the subway platform, she gets so warm with pride that she’s sure it must make her iridescent. Katya makes friends immediately, wherever she goes. She could have anyone, be with anyone, and she picked Trixie.

Katya’s carrying both of their bowls in one arm somehow, and she insists on opening the door for Trixie and ushering her out first. If they’d planned better, they would have gotten food before they went anywhere else. They have to walk back the way they came, down to the park to find someplace to sit and eat. They settle side by side on a bench, not quite touching so that their elbows have room, and they’re mostly quiet.

Trixie didn’t realise just how hungry she was until she started eating and now she’s having to make a concentrated effort not to finish her salad too quickly and embarrass herself. Katya always gets done eating way before Trixie anyway, and she sets her empty bowl down beside herself and drapes her arm over the back of the bench. Her fingers sift through the fine hairs at the nape of Trixie’s neck that have escaped from her ponytail.

“Is this weird?” she says very quietly.

Trixie turns her head. In the fading light, Katya is haloed gold and luminescent. She looks how she’s always looked, except that now Trixie can lean in and kiss her very gently. She likes how Katya’s hands come up to cradle Trixie’s face and she sighs softly into it, how she kisses with her whole self. When they break apart Trixie rests her forehead against Katya’s.

“It’s not weird. Not any more weird than you normally are, anyway.”

Katya’s laugh has always been one of her favourite things, and now she gets to feel it against her cheeks and how it makes Katya’s skull vibrate. “You know, your bullying isn’t quite so effective now that I know you’re _sooo_ super into me.” She’s beaming, the apples of her cheeks made round and shiny by her wide smile. “You’re gonna have to come up with another way to neg me. Or stop kissing me. It negates all the terribly cruel things you say to me.”

Trixie tilts her head and feels the spill of her hair come tumbling over one shoulder. It makes her feel pretty, and she knows Katya’s seeing the last of the daylight landing golden against her face right now. “You want me to stop kissing you?”

“Not ever.” She sounds so sincere that it makes Trixie’s whole body feel pulled taut and fuzzy with static. “I feel like maybe I should be more freaked out than I am? I guess I’ve just. . . I’ve been thinking about it so long. About you.”

“Don’t talk to me about a long time.” Trixie pulls back so that she can look Katya in the face. “But, yeah. I know what you mean. It kinda felt inevitable, didn’t it? Or am I nuts.”

Katya snorts. “If you’re nuts, I am too.”

“You’re definitely nuts, Zamo.”

Katya makes a soft noise of agreement and leans in to kiss Trixie again. This time, her tongue darts out to touch Trixie’s bottom lip, and she draws back on a gasp.

“I don’t- I need you to not put your tongue in my mouth.”

Katya clears her throat and says, “Oh, that’s fine, I understand, some people don’t li-”

“ _No!_ ” Trixie doesn’t mean to say it quite so loudly and she lowers her voice. “I like it. I like it too much. If we’re gonna take this slow, at least a bit, I need you to dial it back a notch or two. As much as I wanna suck on your tongue right now.”

“Gross.” Katya scrunches her face up like she’s experienced something unpleasantly sour, but then she grins. Trixie kisses her again, just quickly, and then straightens up to finish eating.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i've felt a little weird about posting this one, it seems trivial in light of everything happening in the world this week. i hope it offers you a moment of respite, and i hope you take the time to research ways you can support those most affected, in particular, the Minnesota Freedom Fund, and the George Floyd Memorial Fund. i'm on [tumblr](https://katiehoughton.tumblr.com/) and [twitter](https://twitter.com/reallybeanie) if you'd like to talk more about further action you can take. look after yourselves ♡


	12. hyacinthus orientalis.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks of course to the polycule for being wonderful, and to [stutter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/stutter) for whipping this into shape and being so patient with all my shenanigans. i love you!

At lunchtime, Katya is waiting outside of Prick again, just like she has the last three days. When Trixie comes outside she sticks her hand straight out and wiggles her fingers until Trixie takes it. Her hand feels sticky-sweet with sap, and Trixie uses that grip to hold Katya still for a minute. She leans in and kisses Katya’s cheek, just at the corner of her mouth. She smells very strongly of a flower Trixie can’t identify and she breathes it in deeply, her face half-hidden against Katya’s hair.

When she straightens up again, Katya is smiling serenely up at her, and Trixie says, “Where are we eating?”

“Actually we’re not eating. Not right now.” Katya’s mouth twists up in amusement, like she has a secret that she can’t believe she gets to keep. She’s not very good at those, and Trixie waits patiently for her to spill. “I texted your coworkers, I hope that’s not overstepping a boundary.”

Trixie lifts both eyebrows. “Depends what you texted them.”

“Pearl will be here any minute to cover for you the rest of today.”

Trixie tips her head back and moans loudly. She uses her valley girl voice, the one that never fails to make Katya wheeze and stamp her feet. “Oh my god, are you gonna murder me? _Yesss_ , finally. Give it to me baby.”

“You’re disgusting, you’re a worthless human being,” Katya gets out through her laughter. She’s still holding Trixie’s hand and she shakes it around in the air.

Pearl is coming down the block now and she greets the two of them on her way inside, gives Trixie a knowing look that only serves to confuse her even more. Trixie’s clear plastic backpack is starting to slip off one shoulder and she goes to hoist it back up but Katya takes it from her and slings it over one arm, instead.

They start walking down to 79th for the subway. Katya still won’t tell her what they’re doing, and each time Trixie asks she makes a noncommittal, mischievous noise. Katya always likes for Trixie to be the first to go through the turnstile, so she swipes her card and then stands as out of the way as she can, unmoored by not knowing which platform to head for. It earns her a couple disgruntled looks. Katya’s card takes a couple tries each and every time. When she does pop through finally she looks so pleased and proud and goofy that Trixie wants to take her hand again, but there’s no room on the narrow staircase.

“Which train?”

“The 1, downtown,” Katya tells her.

She feels a light touch against her back as they both go down the stairs. On the platform, Katya gathers up Trixie’s hand and lifts it to her mouth for a second, leaves a tiny red smudge on Trixie’s knuckles. They’ve only been doing this for four days, technically, but Trixie is already used to how tactile Katya is. She always wants to be touching her, always reaches for Trixie whenever the opportunity presents itself.

The train is pretty crowded so they can’t get seats. Katya holds on to the bar with one hand, and onto Trixie’s waist with the other so that she doesn’t fall down. “Oh!” she says loudly when they pull into 72nd. She tugs on Trixie’s hand to tug her out of the train car along behind her. “C’mon, c’mon, you’re so pretty but you’re _slow_.”

Trixie honks out a startled noise and allows herself to be dragged across the platform and onto the 2 train that’s pulled up right at the same time. The doors close behind them, nearly clipping Trixie, and she stumbles and has to let herself fall against Katya when the train starts moving.

“Okay I was kidding before, but are you sure you’re not trying to kill me?” she huffs.

She can only stay annoyed with Katya for five seconds at a time, especially when she’s looking up at her from beneath her bangs and smiling like she can’t believe that Trixie’s here with her and she couldn’t be more thrilled about it.

“I’m sorry, Trixabelle. Just wanted to get the express.”

They stay on until 42nd and then transfer to the Q. This time, they get seats, and Katya rummages in Trixie’s backpack for her AirPods. She jams one into her own ear before she hands the other over to Trixie, who plugs them into her phone and starts a playlist going. She made it a few days ago, after she got home from being kissed by Katya. It’s full of songs that make her feel warm and happy and full up with tenderness, towards the whole world and Katya especially.

After a little while, Trixie starts whining to be told where they’re going. She lets herself get brattier and brattier, because they’re sitting down now and the train car is pretty empty and no one’s paying them any attention. Katya’s knees keep swaying into hers with the movement of the train and their shoulders are pressed together.

When they’ve been on the Q for long enough that it’s gotten above ground, it dawns on Trixie. She smiles widely, not caring how goofy it makes her look, and she squeezes Katya’s fingers. “Are you taking me to Coney Island?”

“Absolutely I am,” Katya says very seriously. She leans in to kiss Trixie’s cheek and stays there for a little longer than necessary, all warm skin and softness.

They’re on an elevated section of the tracks now, and behind Katya she can see Brooklyn out of the window. It’s beautiful like this, and Katya turns to look as well. As they get nearer to the end of the line they can see all of the attractions and Katya points them out to Trixie like she’s never seen them before: the Cyclone, the Slingshot, Astro Tower, and the Wonder Wheel, which is Katya’s favourite and makes her press her face to the window of the train like a small child.

A little shiver of revulsion goes through Trixie and she wonders idly if she has any wipes in her backpack, and whether Katya will consent to letting Trixie disinfect her before she allows herself to be touched again. Katya grapples blindly behind herself, circling her wrist until Trixie takes her hand and threads their fingers together.

“How long has it been since you’ve been here?” Trixie asks.

Katya turns around to sit properly in her seat again, and gives Trixie a shy little smile. “Doesn’t matter. I haven’t ever been with you.”

That earns her a kiss, and Trixie lets herself linger because no one is looking at them and because she likes Katya so much. It’s been four days, only four, but she feels like she’s been kissing Katya for her whole life. And like she will be, for the rest of her life.

When they come out of the subway station, Nathan’s is right in front of them and Trixie follows Katya across the street and inside. They join the line for fries, since that’s just about the only thing Trixie can eat here. Next to her, Katya is fidgety and keeps darting little glances at Trixie from the corner of her eye.

“What’s the matter?”

“I’m just. . . I would like a hot dog.”

Trixie lifts both eyebrows and gestures vaguely at the counter with one hand. “They got hot dogs.”

“You’ll still kiss me if I eat one?”

The laugh that escapes her is maybe a bit too loud, and a couple of the teenagers behind the counter turn around to look at the two of them, but Trixie doesn’t care at all. It’s sweet. It’s so sweet that her heart rolls over in tenderness and all of the breath goes out of her for a moment.

“I’ll still kiss you if you eat a hot dog. I kiss your gross smoker’s mouth don’t I?”

Katya squeaks out a little noise of affront. “I am- I could not be more considerate about it, all the gum and those fucking gross mouthwash capsules. I don’t-”

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding, oh my god.” Trixie leans in to steal a small kiss just to prove her point. “Of course I’ll still kiss you.”

A pleased smile tugs at one corner of Katya’s mouth. She orders their food and gets a lemonade for them to share, pays for both of them. She’s got two fingers hooked in the waistband of Trixie’s miniskirt to keep her close. They head for the boardwalk with their food to find someplace to sit and look at the water as they eat. Trixie sees the rivers almost every day, but it’s been a while since she’s been to the ocean. The sun is hitting the high points of her face and making them feel pink and tight. She sets her carton of fries down and fishes around in her backpack for sunscreen.

Katya’s eyes are on her the entire time she works the lotion into her skin. When she’s finished, Katya lifts her chin and closes her eyes expectantly. A giggle escapes Trixie without her thinking too much about it. She squeezes out a little of the sunscreen into the palm of one hand and applies it carefully to Katya’s face with two fingers. Katya’s really trying to keep still, she can tell, but she still squirms around as Trixie rubs the lotion into her skin.

“Tell me if you feel like you’re burning.”

Katya leers at her. “I always feel like I’m burning when I’m with you.”

“Oh, _my god_.” Trixie closes her eyes. She can feel the tips of her ears turning pink, and it’s not from the sun this time. Katya’s laughing, pleased with herself, and Trixie snaps the cap closed on the sunscreen and stuffs it back into her bag.

After they’re done eating, they stop at Coney’s Cones. Katya is immediately distracted by the rainbow splash of gelato cartons in the display freezer, so Trixie gets to order for both of them. She chooses strawberry cheesecake for herself and s’mores for Katya, who insists on tasting Trixie’s cone as well. They wander aimlessly down the boardwalk, ice cream dripping down both of their forearms, their palms uncomfortably sweaty where their free hands are clasped. Katya’s having to eat with her left hand, which is certainly not helping to make her more coordinated. She doesn’t like the cone part of the ice cream, says it’s like chewing up damp cardboard, and she offers it to Trixie in her grubby fist.

“I’m good actually, thank you so much,” Trixie tells her sweetly, and Katya laughs and tosses the remnants of her ice cream into the nearest trash can.

When they get to the Wonder Wheel, Katya stops them and bounces up and down on the balls of her feet a couple times. “Trixie, please, _please_ , can we ride? Please? I really want to so much.”

“Oh my god. Yes, okay, sure,” Trixie laughs. Katya whoops so loudly that several families turn to look at them, and she presses a smacking kiss to Trixie’s cheek.

She’s still carrying Trixie’s backpack, and Trixie takes out her wallet and thumbs out a couple bills before Katya gets the chance. She pays for their credits at the booth and they step into the line to wait their turn. It goes right by the Spook-o-Rama, which is dilapidated in a way that Katya finds completely thrilling. She keeps turning over her shoulder to stare at it, not realising the line has moved, so Trixie has to nudge her with her elbow or wrap her arm around her waist.

When they get to the front of the line, Katya says, “Do you like the white cars best or the red and blue?” like it’s the most important question she’s ever asked.

Generally, Trixie doesn’t love rides and thrills. She’s shy about telling Katya that she wants to go on the white car, the ones that don’t zig zag back and forth towards the centre of the wheel’s eye as it rotates, but Katya says _cool!_ and holds the little gate open for Trixie so she can step inside. It makes the attendant narrow his eyes at her, but it doesn’t seem like she even notices.

They have the car to themselves and Katya scoots right along the bench seat to get her arm around Trixie’s shoulders. Trixie rests her head against Katya.

Her girlfriend.

She hasn’t ever called her that out loud, but she’s been thinking it. When she got home from their first date, her face still kissed pink, Kim had asked her if they were official. She hadn’t known what to say. On the subway ride, after she got done making the playlist, Trixie updated Katya’s contact in her phone and added the pink heart with the bow around it. She feels safe to be a sap on her phone, where Katya isn’t likely to see.

When the wheel has rotated enough that they’re right at the top, Trixie gasps. Katya’s got her fingers threaded through Trixie’s again and she squeezes, leans in close to kiss Trixie’s cheek.

“I forgot how beautiful it is up here,” Trixie says quietly.

She thinks about pulling out her phone and taking some pictures or maybe even a boomerang for her story, but she finds that she doesn’t want to invite anybody else into the moment. Katya’s looking at her and smiling, her eyes green in the late afternoon sunlight. When Trixie leans in, she’s sighing softly before their lips even touch.

They separate, and Katya smooths her thumb against Trixie’s bottom lip and smiles at her. “I’m so happy to be here with you.”

“Katya,” Trixie says, and takes a deep breath that she tries to imbue with courage. “If we’re going to do this. . . I’m gonna be all in. I have to be.”

Up here, above the world, she feels brave enough to say things she couldn’t with her feet touching the earth. Katya is the most still and the most calm that Trixie’s seen her, maybe ever, and she gives Trixie a tiny nod to encourage her to continue.

“I want us to date. And I want. . . I need for us to be exclusive. I don’t want to share you.”

“I don’t wanna share you either,” Katya says very quickly. She grabs clumsily for Trixie’s hand and draws it into her lap to cradle in both of hers. “I want to do this. I think I can do this, with you. Commitment, romance, all that.”

“Okay,” Trixie says slowly. Her smile stretches so wide that she can feel it making her eyes crinkle. “That’s- okay. Cool.”

They spend the rest of the evening squeezing in as many of the attractions as they can, cramming themselves into the too-small seats of the Brooklyn Flyer and bruising their hips when the Thunderbolt throws them violently against the side of the car. Trixie is half-awake for the subway ride home and she dozes with her head lolling against Katya’s shoulder.

At the apartment, they come spilling through the front door, exhausted and sunburned and sticky and laughing. Kim lifts her head from her book to look at them. She’s not wearing any makeup and her seafoam hair is pulled back into a french braid. Trixie wonders idly if it’s strange for her to have her boss see her like this, but then she’s seeing her boss giggly and falling all over Trixie as they both move into the living room.

“Did you have a good time?” Kim has a mug of tea in one hand and she takes a small, delicate sip.

Katya’s beaming, still, hasn’t really stopped all day. She bends over to start unlacing her boots so that she can take them off, and she cranes her neck to try and peer at Kim through her bangs as she does it. “ _Great_ time. One of my best ever days, I think.”

“And have you been this loud for all of it?” Kim asks, and tilts her head. It just makes Katya laugh, and she finally gets both of her shoes off and leaves them dumped in the middle of the floor for somebody to trip over later.

“Please don’t be so disparaging towards our blossoming romance, Kimberly,” Katya says, and then she turns to Trixie. “Do you mind if I take a shower, baby? I feel gross.”

“I don’t think there’re enough shower gels in the world to cure you of your grossness, but by all means.” Trixie captures Katya on her way past and draws her in to kiss her, wanting to get the last of their day before she rinses it all off.

When they break apart, Katya’s got her thumb against Trixie’s chin and she leaves it there for a moment longer like she’s studying her. Trixie closes her eyes with pleasure. The way Katya looks at her, like she can’t quite believe she’s allowed to, makes her blush every time.

Kim clears her throat. “Okay lesbians.”

“Not a lesbian,” Katya says cheerfully over her shoulder as she heads for the bathroom.

The door closes behind her and Kim levels Trixie with a look that makes her squirm on the spot. She knows that Kim is happy for her. After she had her talk with Katya the other day, after she _kissed her_ , Trixie had gushed about it to Kim for the entire evening. She’s a good friend, patient, and she’d let Trixie tell her the same story at least four times.

“What?” Trixie finally says.

“Trixie, I love you, but I really need you to not fuck my boss in our home.”

Trixie shrieks and drops to sit heavily on the arm of the couch. Her face has erupted in pink embarrassment again and she presses the backs of her hands to her cheeks. “I’m not- we’re not- we haven’t-”

“You _haven’t_?” One of Kim’s perfect eyebrows lifts. “You’re so hot for her, and she’s just as bad. I assumed you’d jumped each other immediately.”

It feels completely absurd to be talking to Kim about this, but she’s glad to get to talk to somebody who isn’t Katya. It’s just slightly less embarrassing. “No. We’re- it’s- we’re taking our time, I guess you’d say. There’s no hurry.”

“Okay but Trixie, you’ve been thirsting after her for three years.”

“Not the _whole_ time.” Kim lowers her chin and lifts both eyebrows. “Shut _up_! I think it’s. . . I think this is it. I can’t imagine what could be after her. So. I don’t mind waiting.”

Kim’s facade has cracked a bit and she smiles. “Oh, wow. I didn’t know it was that serious already. But you know, I really don’t think you have to wait. Not for that. Just ask her.”

This conversation is suddenly too much. Trixie gets up and leans over to unlace her sneakers and take them off. Her feet are so hot from walking around all day and she peels her socks off as well, grateful for the cool hardwood. She hears the shower shut off and then the bathroom door opens and Katya comes out, wrapped in a towel with her hair piled up on top of her head.

“Are you staying here tonight?” Trixie asks, very carefully not looking at Kim. She can feel her eyes boring two holes into the back of her skull.

Katya shrugs, and then grabs for the towel to hold it closed before it dislodges itself. “If that’s okay? I can’t believe you live in fucking Brooklyn. You know this is a long-distance relationship. I should’ve never let you talk me into this.”

“I’m the one who has to travel basically to your doorstep every day for work,” Trixie says. Her voice is coming out more shrill than she really means it to, because she can’t stop thinking about what Kim said and she feels totally thrown off-balance. “God forbid you make the tiniest amount of effort.”

Katya cackles wildly, her head thrown back. “God forbids most of the activities I participate in, mama. Lust? Sloth? Lesbian activity? You better get into it.”

“Okay, okay, Jesus, I didn’t ask for your rap sheet. Go get dressed, I can see seventeen different textures of skin right now.”

She gives Katya five minutes in the bedroom to put some clothes on, during which time Kim interrogates her over whether negging your girlfriend is a normal part of gay relationships or just their particular brand of weird.

Katya is already in bed when Trixie comes in to collect her own sleeping clothes. She changes in the bathroom, takes her makeup off and brushes her teeth while she’s there. It feels quite strange, like they’re a couple in the fifties sleeping in two separate bedrooms. She just would like to retain a little mystery until she and Katya have actually had sex.

Climbing into bed next to Katya is quickly becoming Trixie’s favourite part of the day. She snuggles in close, her cheek against Katya’s chest, and closes her eyes. She’s exhausted from their day, from the heat of the sun and all of the walking around.

“Kim said something to me just now,” Trixie says quietly, and gets a little hum from Katya. “Does it bother you when I tease you? When I say mean stuff?”

Katya nudges Trixie carefully off of her, but it’s only so she can slide down the bed a bit and put them face to face. “It doesn’t bother me at all. I think it’s intimate. It’s like. . . something that we have that’s just for us. It’s trust.”

“Okay.” Trixie nods, and her nose bumps Katya’s. “And. . . would it bother you if I said nice stuff sometimes, too? I know you don’t like sentimentality, but I just- I like you so much. I wanna be allowed to tell you.”

“You can tell me,” Katya says immediately. Her hand comes up to rest against Trixie’s face and she draws her bottom lip down experimentally with her thumb. “You can say whatever you want. You don’t have to censor yourself for me.”

Relief rushes through Trixie like liquid. She lifts her chin to brush her lips against Katya’s, just lightly, not even really a kiss. “Can I say, then, that I had a really great time today. That I am so, so happy. And that I think you’re so beautiful.”

“Trixie, baby, you’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen. You have my favourite face in all the world.”

Katya kisses her then, properly. Her tongue is hot and wet and filling Trixie’s mouth. One of Katya’s thighs is between both of hers and she has to fight not to rock down sharply against it. They haven’t really talked about it beyond that first date, and they’ve engaged in some light groping since then, but one of them always backs off before things escalate. Trixie moans into their kiss and clutches Katya, lets her hand slide down to her ass.

When she squeezes it makes Katya gasp and then she makes a soft, desperate noise and rolls over onto her back. Katya extracts an arm from the sheets and throws it over her face. For a little while the only noise in the room is the pleasant hum of the ceiling fan and both of their breathing levelling out.

“When are you going to fuck me?” Trixie blurts into the darkness.

She hears Katya choke on nothing, and she doesn’t dare move or even try to peek at her. It’s excruciating how long she has to wait before Katya speaks, but when she does she sounds calm and quiet. “I didn’t think you were ready yet. I thought you wanted to wait.”

Trixie gathers every scrap of courage she possesses and takes Katya’s hand in hers. She draws it between her own legs and presses it there against her underwear, where she’s wet and so hot. Katya whines brokenly and her fingers twitch against Trixie.

“I think I’m ready. Don’t you?”

“ _Fuck_ , Trixie. Jesus Christ.” Trixie lets her have her hand back and she draws it away slowly, lets her knuckles drag right where Trixie needs her. “Okay. Not tonight, baby. Let me take you out to dinner. I want you to wear a cute dress, and sit there the whole time we’re eating knowing that I’m gonna take you home and fuck you after.”

She did it to herself, but it still makes her furious that Katya can roll over onto her stomach and be out cold just like that. It takes her a long time to fall asleep, listening to Katya’s soft little snuffling and feeling the weight of her next to Trixie in the bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope you are all safe, and taking care of the most vulnerable members of your community. your voice is the most powerful tool you have. i'm on [tumblr](https://katiehoughton.tumblr.com/) and [twitter](https://twitter.com/reallybeanie) if you want to talk.


	13. iris pseudacorus.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks as always to the polycule - i love our family, and you are all so precious to me. and [stutter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/stutter), my love, thank you for whipping this into shape, and loving me no matter what. i couldn't be more proud to be your friend.

In the handful of days since their trip to Coney Island, Trixie has been bashful and nervous whenever she’s looked at Katya. They’re both very aware that there’s a step they haven’t taken, and that they might turn out to be totally incompatible. Trixie doesn’t think that’s very likely; she likes the way Katya touches her so much and she can’t imagine liking it less when they have sex. Still, it’ll be good to know for certain.

Trixie spent a long time getting ready. She doesn’t think Katya cares; in fact, she knows that she doesn’t. But _she_ cares. She likes her skin to feel soft and smooth and supple, likes how it makes Katya make a surprised, pleased noise. She feels good, she feels pretty, and when Katya sees her waiting outside Arte Cafe and stops in the middle of the sidewalk, Trixie’s face gets warm.

“Oh, Trixie, wow,” Katya says. She’s got both hands on Trixie’s hips to keep her in place while she takes her in. “You’re so beautiful. I can’t believe you- _wow_.”

Trixie huffs a breath of laughter and leans in for a kiss, can’t help but make a little noise of contentment into it. She lets Katya hold the door for her and usher her into the restaurant with a hand at the small of her back, lets her pull out her chair as well. She’s working so hard to be chivalrous, and when she sits down opposite, Trixie takes her hand and squeezes.

“Relax. I’m gonna let you take me home, you don’t have to earn it.”

They’re too busy chattering to pay any attention to the menu. When the server comes around Trixie is startled and flounders. She says to Katya, “Hey, can you pick something for me? You know what I like.”

Katya opens her mouth, her face bright with mischief, and Trixie nudges her toes into Katya’s shin below the table. She orders for both of them, and when Trixie’s eggplant rigatoni comes she can’t stop smiling at Katya around her fork.

It feels so good to be desired, especially after how long she’s ached to have Katya. Things are always comfortable between them, but tonight everything feels charged and crackly. Every time Katya finds an excuse to touch her, Trixie presses her thighs together beneath the table.

“Did you think I was pretty when we met?” Trixie asks, without really considering the consequences. She’s not sure which answer she wants to hear.

Katya sets her fork down and reaches across the table for Trixie’s hand, begins brushing her thumb back and forth over Trixie’s knuckles. “I thought you were _so_ pretty that when I came back into the store I lay right down on the floor and groaned and Jinkx thought I was dying. I thought you were the most beautiful person I’d ever seen, ever. I still do.”

“Pearl made fun of me the entire rest of the day because of how tongue-tied I got around you,” Trixie offers, a secret for a secret. It makes Katya smile bashfully.

A couple nights ago, Trixie stayed at Katya’s place and the dark made her brave, made her feel drunk with adolescence. On her back in the middle of the night, with Katya’s head against her chest and her arm slung low over Trixie’s waist, she had told her that she wanted her from the moment they met. Katya hadn’t been pitying, or apologetic. She’d just listened, and when Trixie was done talking she had propped herself up with her forearm next to Trixie’s head and told her _that’s so gay, Trixabelle_. Her kiss had been gentle and lovely and she’d brushed the backs of her fingers over Trixie’s cheek, tucked her hair out of the way.

Katya pays for dinner, because she’s quicker to produce her wallet than Trixie is. Trixie promises to get it next time, and Katya’s whole face glows pink with pleasure. Out on the street, Katya fumbles for Trixie’s hand and she gives it to her easily, threads their fingers together. Their clasped hands swing between them as they walk.

It’s a warm night, and Trixie feels very calm and kind. She can tell that Katya’s anxious because she chatters non-stop as they walk the few blocks to her apartment and she keeps darting tiny glances at Trixie from beneath her long lashes. Maybe Trixie will be nervous later, when she has to take her clothes off, but for now she just feels certain.

Monét gave her that advice, back in college when Trixie was just starting to think about dating. She’d told her _you should wait until you want it so bad that it outweighs the nerves_. Trixie had thought she understood what that meant, when she was with Shea, but it’s nothing compared to now.

“Hey.” Trixie stops Katya at the door to her building. “We don’t have to do this. If you want to wait longer. This has been a wonderful date, and I can go home now and it’ll still have been lovely.”

Katya blinks at her a couple of times and then surges in close and kisses her, with way more tongue than Trixie is anticipating in the middle of the street. She opens right up, lets her in and moans because she knows it makes Katya nuts. Katya’s crowding her up against the brick edifice of the building and her fingertips are drifting up beneath the hem of Trixie’s dress to graze over her bare thighs.

“Trixie, I don’t want to wait. I’m- yeah, I’m a little nervous. I’m sure you can tell. It’s because I care so much. I like you _so much_. But I want to do this, if you do too.”

“I do, I do, please take me upstairs.” Trixie’s head feels leaden, and it’s exhausting to peel herself away from the wall.

She keeps a tight hold of Katya’s hand all the way up the three flights to her floor, her apartment. Inside, Katya closes the front door with the press of Trixie’s body against it and kisses her again. Trixie feels galvanised and trembling. Katya’s got her thigh between Trixie’s legs and she rocks her hips down against it arrhythmically.

Trixie’s yellow overall dress has four buttons down the front of the bodice. Her tits are straining against it, heavy with want. Katya breaks out of their kiss and opens her mouth against Trixie’s throat. Her hands are working quickly at Trixie’s chest. Katya unfastens the buttons, and Trixie comes undone.

She gets her hand inside of Trixie’s dress and palms her, whines in her throat. It isn’t the first time she’s touched Trixie’s tits — they’ve indulged in some above-the-waist fondling like a pair of teenagers — but it is the first time that she doesn’t stop herself. Doesn’t hold back.

She kisses Trixie again, one hand still inside her dress and the other splayed wide against her jaw. It’s half-covering Trixie’s ear so that she can almost hear the roar of the ocean, almost taste salt air and sunshine. Trixie can’t stop rocking her hips against Katya’s thigh and she lets her hands drop to grab Katya’s ass and haul her in even closer.

Trixie likes the puff of Katya’s breath against her cheek. She’s glad they decided not to do this right away. It’s been a lovely, tender, intimate week. She’s liked holding Katya’s hand, kissing her cheeks and nose and her mouth, very softly, but she’s ready now.

“You look so pretty today,” Katya says into her mouth. “Can I take this off?”

She tugs on the bottom hem of Trixie’s dress. Trixie nods, and allows herself to be walked backwards towards Katya’s bed. Katya strips the dress up over her head as they go and Trixie stumbles, but Katya’s warm hand is at her waist beneath her white t-shirt to catch her. She appreciates that Katya doesn’t dump the dress on the floor, that she folds it neatly and puts it on the couch before she comes back to Trixie.

It feels strange to be standing in front of Katya in just a tiny, tight t-shirt and her white lace underwear. Katya spreads both hands wide at Trixie’s ass and hauls her in close, kisses her open-mouthed. She’s really, really good at this. Trixie didn’t have any doubts, but she’s already getting lightheaded and they’re still standing up. Katya pulls Trixie’s shirt off next and tosses it in the general direction of the couch, steps back to take her in.

“I can’t believe how bad I want you,” Katya says breathlessly. “It’s so much.”

“Me too, oh my god. Why do you have so many clothes on?”

That makes Katya laugh. She’s still in her cute green embroidered dress. Trixie wraps both hands around Katya’s waist. She’s so tiny, but she makes Trixie want to lay out on her back and let Katya do whatever she likes. Trixie unfastens the little button closure at the nape of Katya’s neck and helps her out of the dress, lets it pool at her feet.

Underneath, she has a sheer white bustier bra embroidered with a spray of purple and pink and red flowers, and matching briefs. It isn’t Trixie’s first time seeing her undressed, but it’s the first time she’s been allowed to touch her like this. She settles one hand at Katya’s waist and the other at the back of her neck and draws her in to kiss her. Katya is up on her tiptoes so Trixie doesn’t have to bend down so much, and her entire body is pressed against Trixie’s to keep her balance.

“You’re absolutely sure you still want to do this?”

Trixie’s stomach does a tiny flip. She wants to _so bad_ , can’t fathom a universe in which she didn’t want to, but she appreciates Katya checking in all the same. “I do. I really do. Do you?”

“God yes.”

Katya walks Trixie backwards until her calves hit the edge of the bed and she sits down on the mattress, encouraged by a nudge to her shoulders. Katya comes right into her lap, knees either side of Trixie’s hips, and kisses her again. When she grabs at Katya’s ass to steady herself it makes her moan into Trixie’s mouth.

When it gets to be too much, she flops backwards against the sheets and Katya follows her down. Her tongue is in Trixie’s mouth and she’s squeezing roughly at Trixie’s tits through her bra. Katya encourages her to shift up the bed until her head is against the pillows, and then sits back on her feet and just looks at her, her eyes drifting all over.

“What?”

“You’re gorgeous.” Katya’s voice is very low and quiet. “Trixie. Wow. Can I touch you?”

Trixie laughs at that, can’t help it. Katya is so serious that it’s freaking her out a tiny bit; she’s never seen her be this intense or focused about anything before. It’s a lot, to receive all of her attention all at once, and she does her best not to squirm.

“You’ve _been_ touching me. By all means, continue.”

Katya reaches beneath her to unhook her bra and slides it very carefully down her arms. Trixie is self-conscious about this part sometimes. Her tits are big, so pale that her veins stand out stark and blue, and when she’s not wearing a bra they flop around in a way she finds embarrassing and not at all sexy.

There’s no time to get tangled up in body woes, because Katya immediately lowers her head and takes Trixie’s nipple into her mouth. Trixie moans right away and cradles the back of Katya’s head to keep her in place. When her hips begin shifting helplessly beneath Katya, she takes her mouth and her hands off of Trixie’s tits and starts moving down the bed. A sudden, crackling flare of panic shoots through Trixie.

“Wait, wait wait,” she gasps, and waits for Katya to pause and lift her head. “I have to tell you something. I do have a tattoo.”

“ _What_?” Katya shrieks and flops over onto her back in ecstasy, squirming like a pill bug.

She’s so cute that Trixie has to kiss her again, can’t help it. She allows herself to get distracted, but then she breaks away with a gasp. “I needed to be able to empathise with my clients.”

“You fuckin’ hateful liar.” Katya rolls onto her stomach and props her chin in both hands. She’s got her feet up in the air and she swings them jubilantly. Her hair is dishevelled already and they’ve hardly even started. “What is it? _Where_ is it?”

“It’s on my hip.” Trixie covers her eyes with her forearm and groans. “Here’s the thing: you’re not gonna like it.”

Katya threads her fingers through Trixie’s to peel her arm away from her face. She’s so earnest, leaning down over Trixie, and she presses a tiny soft kiss to the very tip of Trixie’s nose. “I like _you_. It doesn’t matter to me what it is.”

“It’s Wisconsin’s state flower.” Trixie lifts her hips up off the bed to hook her fingers in the waistband of her own underwear and start pulling them down. Katya, enthusiastic as ever, helps her to get them down to her knees. She touches her fingertips to the four tiny, delicate flowers in the hollow below Trixie’s hipbone, and then she explodes into a shrill of laughter.

“Are these _violets_?”

“Yeah.” Trixie closes her eyes, wishes she could hide her face but Katya’s got her wrists pinned to the mattress either side of her body while she leans over her. The first hot, wet touch of Katya’s tongue to her skin makes her jerk and gasp. “I’m sorry. I know it’s less than ideal.”

“This is my favourite thing that’s ever happened. Do you know about irony, Tallulah?” Katya lifts her head to smile at Trixie, the wide-open one that shows all of her teeth. She’s got a little smudge of mascara beneath her eye.

Trixie huffs. “That’s when there’s a traffic jam and you’re already late?”

“Like you know how to drive,” Katya scoffs. “Shut up, you big dumb gay. Kiss me some more.”

She does, arching her neck to meet Katya as she leans down. Trixie lets her fingers slip underneath the bottom edge of Katya’s bustier bra to touch her warm, smooth skin. “This set is so pretty,” she says. She can hear how her voice is coming out awed. “You’re so beautiful, I can’t believe we’re really doing this. Will you take it off?”

Katya laughs, clear and loud with her head tipped back. She gets off of Trixie and sits cross-legged, facing away with all of her hair swept forward over one shoulder. Trixie unfastens each of the four hook and eye closures and pushes the straps down, lets Katya take it the rest of the way off. Instead of tossing it haphazardly across the room like Trixie expects, Katya neatly folds it in half and places it down on the floor right next to the bed.

She turns back around, a delicate flush in her cheeks and across her chest. Trixie reaches for her immediately and palms her tits. Katya lets her head roll back against her shoulders, her mouth dropping open. “I was thinking about this, when I put this set on this morning,” she says. “You touching me. God, you feel so good baby.”

“C’mere,” Trixie says.

Katya slides a knee across Trixie’s thighs and sinks down. Trixie can feel the damp material of her underwear against her bare skin. It’s quiet in the apartment, aside from Katya’s soft little whimpers above her when Trixie arches up to get her mouth on her. Katya seems to remember quite suddenly that Trixie’s underwear are down around her knees and she lifts up to create enough space that she can get her hand between Trixie’s legs.

Katya dips two fingers into her right away and Trixie gasps. Katya takes her hand away again almost immediately and brings it up between their bodies to show Trixie. She spreads her fingers slowly, a string of Trixie’s wetness stretching between them, and her eyes shift from her own hand to Trixie’s face. “Look how wet you are, baby. Is this for me?”

“ _Fuck_ ,” Trixie says. She knows how wet she is, she can feel it all down her thighs whenever she shifts beneath Katya. “You’re the worst person I’ve ever met. Stop teasing, I hate you.”

“Ask me nicely.” Katya sucks her fingers into her mouth and lets Trixie watch her as she works her tongue over them.

Trixie’s hands feel useless and disconnected from the rest of her body and she lets them rest heavily against Katya’s fuzzy thighs. “Katya, please, please touch me. I need it so bad. Please.”

The low groan that Katya lets out makes Trixie press her thighs together hard. She leans down over her again and kisses her, wet and exploratory and so good. When Katya pushes two fingers into her again she has to turn her head away and gasp a couple of deep breaths.

“I’ve thought about this so much, Trixie. You’re so pretty.”

Katya fucks her slowly for a few thrusts and then slides out of her again. She strokes over and around her, spreading Trixie’s wetness and avoiding her clit. They kiss a little more, but Katya breaks away to move further down the bed so she can see what she’s doing.

“Is this good?” Katya looks up to see Trixie’s frantic nodding and she huffs a small laugh. “Can I use my mouth?”

Later, Trixie might be ashamed of the noise she makes, but she’s already too far gone for it to matter now. She rolls her head against the pillows. “Oh, my god, you can do whatever you want. Just don’t stop.”

The first hot, wet touch of Katya’s mouth against her is so good that Trixie’s hips lift right up off the bed. Katya pins her back down with one arm slung across her and starts eating her out in earnest right away. It’s no surprise at all that she’s good at this, really good. She’s making these cute humming noises of contentment that are sending vibrations through Trixie.

Katya hooks her arm beneath Trixie’s thigh and Trixie fumbles for her hand to hold. She can feel sweat beginning to collect in all of her creases and she can’t stop herself from arching up, chasing Katya’s mouth when she pulls away to breathe for a second. Katya adds a third finger and it makes Trixie cry out. Her breath is coming in these tight, shuddering gasps and she can’t stop whispering Katya’s name.

“Can you come like this?” Katya says. She’s still fucking into her with three fingers, harder than Trixie can ever manage to get the angle right to do for herself.

“Yes, oh my god. I can, I can, please don’t stop.”

Katya grins and scrapes her teeth against the sensitive skin of Trixie’s inner thigh. “I’m not gonna stop, baby.”

She lowers her head again and sucks at Trixie’s clit, works her tongue in tight circles. When she comes, Katya fucks her through it, tells her how beautiful she is. She helps her to come down with tiny kisses against her thighs and the creases of her hips. It takes a minute or two for Trixie’s breathing to level out again, but when it does she reaches for Katya and tugs her up.

“You’re so fucking sexy,” Katya says. “Every time I look at you I feel like I’m gonna die.”

She’s holding herself up on one arm, propped next to Trixie’s head, and she leans in to kiss her. When they separate to breathe, Katya brushes Trixie’s hair back out of her face and touches her thumb to the shell of Trixie’s ear. She’s smiling down at Trixie and she’s so cuddly and sweet. Trixie cradles the back of Katya’s neck and draws her down, rolls them until Katya’s beneath her.

Right away, she drops her mouth to the bee tattooed on Katya’s clavicle and lets the very tip of her tongue dart out to touch it. Katya’s clutching at her, one hand fisted in her hair and the other squeezing her bare ass. Trixie lets her mouth drift down to the snake just below Katya’s tits and traces her tongue all along it. Katya moans and tugs on her handful of Trixie’s hair.

“Every time I ever gave you a tattoo I thought about this,” Trixie says. “I wanted to put my mouth on you so bad.”

Katya snorts a laugh. “Wow. That’s very unprofessional, Miss Mattel.”

“Is it unprofessional if I make you come right now?” Trixie says sweetly. “Because I really want to.”

Katya’s eyes slam closed and she groans, loud enough that Trixie feels it vibrating through her sternum. She’s thought about this for such a long time that she doesn’t know where to start now that it’s actually, finally happening. Katya is so wet and hot and Trixie dips the tips of her fingers between her legs experimentally. Just that first contact makes her buck her hips up into Trixie, and she fists one hand in the sheets next to her. It’s just beginning to get dark now, which really means that the city is shifting from sunlight to synthetic brightness. Trixie reaches over to the nightstand to switch on Katya’s jellyfish lamp and the room is bathed in a shifting, purple-pink glow.

“You’re so beautiful,” she says, and braces for Katya to disagree or make a noise of disgust. She doesn’t. Instead, she cradles Trixie’s face in her hands and arches her neck to kiss her again.

They kiss for long moments, without any urgency. Trixie could do nothing else for hours. She still feels like Katya might vanish beneath her at any moment, so she can’t help but trace her fingertips up and down the length of Katya’s arm just to make sure she’s still there.

“I thought about it too,” Katya says quietly. She’s still got Trixie’s face between her palms and she curls her fingertips around Trixie’s ears. “You have no idea how hot you are. When you were concentrating, leaning over me, I was always so fucking wet after a session with you.”

Trixie’s mouth peels open on a grin and she bites her bottom lip to try and contain it. Her cheeks are warm with pleasure and with Katya’s hands against them. She still feels pleasantly loose-limbed from her own orgasm and she wants to make Katya feel so good, too.

Katya’s thighs are all muscle, and fuzzy with blonde hair. Trixie gets her hand between them again and drifts slowly upwards to where she’s swollen and wet, until Katya gasps and grabs Trixie’s arm. She seems so undone already and Trixie has hardly even started touching her yet.

“You’re so wet _now_ , Katya. Is this what it was like?”

“Mm-hmm.” Katya’s biting down on her bottom lip, hard enough to blanch it white. Her hair is fanned out around her across the sheets and her face is flushed; she’s like a Waterhouse painting, ethereal and lovely.

“Tell me what you like. Tell me what you need.”

“ _Fuck_ ,” Katya says. She’s looking at Trixie between her legs and it’s making her chin crease up. It’s so endearing; Trixie feels like she’s unwrapping something precious. “I want- your mouth, Trix.”

Trixie nudges Katya’s thighs until she spreads them and then she hooks one over her shoulder and leans in. She can smell her already, can feel the heat rolling off of her. She only gets to do this for the first time once. Trixie takes her time, leaves tiny closed-mouth kisses all over Katya but never where she needs her most. Her hips are rolling helplessly so that Trixie has to hold her still. Trixie draws little circles with her tongue, sucks at Katya’s clit. Everything is hot and slippery and delicious, the ball of Katya’s heel pressing into Trixie’s back to keep her in place.

“Fingers?”

Katya makes a small noise, says, “Not- no. This is good. I’m- this is _so good_.”

It takes only a minute or two more before Katya’s knees close around Trixie’s ears in a vice and she bucks against Trixie’s face. Once she relaxes her thighs again, Trixie crawls back up the bed and tries to discreetly wipe her mouth with the back of her hand. She tucks herself in against Katya, who winds her arm around Trixie’s shoulders and traces looping, concentric patterns against her clavicle. For a long time, they just breathe together. When the air starts to be chilly Katya hooks her toes in the blanket and pulls it up over them both, tucks it carefully around Trixie.

Trixie is glad that they talked before, so that she doesn’t have to wonder now. She knows what she wants, and what Katya wants too, and they’re close enough to the same thing that Trixie feels buoyed with hope. She wants this to work so badly, wants to really build something with Katya.

“You’re thinking very hard. Don’t set the bed on fire.”

Trixie huffs, too wiped out to manage a real laugh, but she does touch her lips to Katya’s shoulder. “Sorry. I’m just- I like you so much. I’m really happy.”

Katya makes a disgusted noise and doesn’t say anything, but she tightens her arm a bit. Trixie knows that Katya is unsentimental, and that she’s going to have to curb that impulse in herself so as not to freak Katya out completely.

“Was that worth the wait?” Katya says. Her voice is light with teasing and still a little fucked out. Trixie knows she’s waiting for her to lob the ball back over the net, but she doesn’t have it in her right now. Not when she still feels pleasantly exhausted. Not when she can still taste Katya in her own mouth.

“It was worth three years of waiting, yes.” That makes Katya flush livid-pink, and Trixie rolls onto her stomach so that she can kiss her again, very gently. “It was good for you?”

Katya honks out a startled laugh. “I don’t want to overstate things, and this might be my orgasm haze talking still, but you fully rocked my world, Trixie Mattel.”

That makes her laugh and she drops her head until her forehead is against Katya’s chin. It feels like they’ve achieved something amazing and Trixie wants to yell into the night like a coyote, but she couldn’t move if she tried.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm on [tumblr](https://katiehoughton.tumblr.com/) and [twitter](https://twitter.com/reallybeanie) if you want to chat! i really would love to know what you thought of this one ♡


	14. tulipa gesneriana.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks as always to the polycule, for loving me and letting me love you right back. and of course, _of course_ , thanks to [stutter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/stutter). i couldn't love you more, but i'm gonna keep trying anyway. (she's [on tumblr now](https://stutter8.tumblr.com/), go tell her she's wonderful).

“Hey, Trixabelle.”

Trixie grunts and tries to roll over, bumps up against the hot, elastic length of Katya’s body next to her in the bed. She’s beginning to get used to it now. Katya sometimes wakes her in the middle of the night with soft kisses at the insides of her thighs, or her hands traveling smooth and swift over Trixie’s skin like water. “Mm. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” Katya says. It’s starting to get light out, and in the milky pre-dawn Katya’s face is pale and sincere. “Just missed you. I woke up, and you looked so pretty. Wanted to tell you.”

Things haven’t shifted as much as Trixie thought they might. They still spend time apart, still are careful to see their other friends, but they exist in a bubble of intimacy now. Trixie stays at Katya’s apartment most nights, because it’s a lot easier than both of them trekking over to Brooklyn. She makes sure to spend at least two nights a week at her own place, because it feels unfair to Kim, and because she thinks Katya needs the space.

“You’re pretty, too. Can you sleep a little more, you think?” Trixie extracts one arm from the sheets and holds it aloft, waits for Katya to tuck herself in against her chest before she wraps her arm around her. She doesn’t think Katya ever goes back to sleep, but she’ll rest here. Trixie lets her fingertips drift lazily back and forth along the length of Katya’s bare bicep, lets her thoughts unspool.

She’s been a little selfish. It hadn’t been until the third time she’d gone home to the apartment and found Naomi there hanging out with Kim that it had even occurred to her to ask. There’s nothing, Kim says, they’re just friends. It’d been jarring to be confronted with her own half-lies coming out of Kim’s mouth, but she hadn’t pushed her on it. She’d hate to be one of those people who starts trying to matchmake all of their friends as soon as they get into a relationship.

On the nights she’s at home, Trixie always calls Katya before she goes to bed. She’s funny on the phone, her voice acrobatic to compensate for the fact that she can’t wriggle her eyebrows or hop around. Trixie sets her on speaker and goes about her evening as usual, has Katya chattering away while she takes off her makeup and changes into something comfortable. More than once, she’s fallen asleep to Katya’s voice soft and low and gentle right in her ear. And more than once, Katya has been the first to fall asleep and Trixie has stayed on the line for a little while after, just listening to her strange sleep noises.

Things are so good, so easy. Every morning when she wakes up it hits her again, a wave of giddiness washing over her so she squirms beneath her sheets. When Katya’s there she’s usually already awake, and it makes her laugh and lean in for a kiss.

Sometimes in the middle of the afternoon, Trixie is so full up with the need to kiss Katya that she can’t stand it. She has to go next door and loop her fingers around Katya’s wrist to drag her into the back room and make out for five minutes. There was one day Katya booked out an appointment and insisted she wanted a new piercing, but instead climbed on top of Trixie on the table and shoved her hand up Trixie’s skirt. Raja had very knowingly asked to see Katya’s alleged daith ring, and when they had both floundered and fumbled their excuses she had laughed and told them that they were very sweet.

This morning — today — marks one whole month of dating. They’re having the best sex of Trixie’s life, and even though she sometimes can’t help but think about Violet and her leather and her tiny waist, Katya assures her that she is more than satisfied.

“Stay right here and cosy,” Katya tells Trixie as soon as she opens her eyes. “I’m gonna run out for breakfast, and then I’m gonna come home and fuck you after, okay baby?”

“Oh my god,” Trixie says into her pillow. “Okay.” She can feel a livid crease down the side of her face, and her hair feels scraggly, but Katya kisses her, morning-mouth and all, before she leaves. Trixie doesn’t mean to fall back asleep, but the thud of the front door closing startles her awake again.

“I got you a croissant,” Katya says loudly. She always crash-lands into the bed and leaves a blast site around herself that makes Trixie’s ears ring, first thing in the morning. The paper bag from Irving Farm has lost its structural integrity, clutched tight in Katya’s fist, and it flops over immediately.

Katya kisses the grumbling right off Trixie’s mouth, shushes her protestations about crumbs in the bed with a promise to change the sheets right after they’re done eating. After breakfast, Katya lets her rock over the strap as deep and slow as she needs. She feels buoyed by it all morning, and by the noises Katya had made when Trixie had flipped her over and eaten her out until she was a quivering mass in the middle of the bed.

It isn’t quite lunchtime, but it’s close enough that Trixie doesn’t feel too bad about ducking out. She gives herself a very quick once over in their tiny employee bathroom first, even though Katya has seen her in various states of disarray. Katya has _induced_ most of them. Satisfied, she tells Pearl she’ll be back in a half hour and she heads into Nightshade.

When Katya sees her coming in she careens around the counter right away and heads straight for her, weaving through the three new giant monstera they got in the other day. “Hi, baby.” Katya grins widely and loops her arm low around Trixie’s waist, presses a loud, smacking kiss to her temple that must leave a red smudge. Trixie lets herself feel kept, lets Katya show her off a little bit. Jinkx is at the counter, her arms in a bag of potting mix right up to the elbows, but she lifts her head to call out a hello to Trixie.

“Jinkxy, you know my girlfriend Trixie.”

“We have met,” Jinkx says dryly. “I’ve seen her almost every day for the last three years.”

Trixie’s ears are ringing. She leans against Katya’s side like she’s inebriated. She feels it, drunk with surprise and pleasure. When Jinkx returns her attention to the shuttle tray of seedlings on the counter, Katya looks at Trixie and frowns the tiniest bit.

“Are you okay, baby?”

“Yeah,” Trixie says, and her voice comes out in a deeply embarrassing squeak. “You just- you’ve never called me that before.”

Katya’s face falls and she clears her throat. “Oh. Right. I can _not_ , if it’s- if you don’t want-”

“Ask me properly,” Trixie interrupts.

It makes Katya grin widely and duck her head like she’s shy, for just a moment. Then she straightens her spine and takes Trixie’s hand, brings it to her mouth to kiss the back of it. “Beatrice Mattel. Light of my life, destroyer of my pussy. Would you do me the enormous honour of being my girlfriend?”

“I will be your girlfriend,” Trixie says very solemnly, and then cracks up and flings both arms around Katya’s neck. Hers circle Trixie’s waist and lift her right off the ground for a moment. When she sets her back down, Trixie pulls back enough that she can kiss her.

They’re both smiling into it, so it’s a clumsy clattering together of their teeth. Jinkx clears her throat and they both turn their heads towards her, see her standing looking at them with her arms folded.

“You two are so peculiar,” she says, but then she smiles and drops her arms. “I’m happy for you.”

Trixie allows herself to be ushered outside, her backpack bouncing against Katya’s shoulder because she only has one arm through the straps. She feels overcome with fondness and she reaches for Katya’s hand to hold. She gets to keep it while they’re in line at Peacefood Cafe, and Katya lets her pay for their lunch. They eat in the park, side by side on a bench with their fingers laced together. It’s a beautiful day, springtime just beginning to give way to summer, and Trixie’s skin feels warm. When Katya gets done eating she wraps her arm around Trixie’s shoulders and kisses her temple.

“My pretty baby,” she says very softly, and her nose nuzzles at Trixie’s hairline.

Trixie leans in to it and closes her eyes. Sometimes she still thinks about how long she waited and none of this quite seems real, but then Katya kisses her or holds her hand or gives her a smile she only wears for Trixie and she feels certain again.

The afternoon drags. Trixie has one of her regulars in to start the shading on his sleeve. When he asks her what’s got her so cheerful today she starts talking without really thinking about it. He’s a good guy, and he listens patiently while she gushes about her girlfriend. After he leaves Pearl corners her and tells her she’s a sap, but she’s grinning and she doesn’t seem mad at all.

They order food and eat together on Katya’s couch with a movie turned down low. It’s been a month, only a month, but Trixie feels so calm and content. After dinner, Katya picks up all of their takeout containers and leaves them on the kitchen counter to deal with later. She comes back to Trixie and tells her, “I really wanna rail you now? Is that- are you amenable to that?”

“Uh, yeah,” Trixie manages to say, and works her tongue around her suddenly dry mouth.

Katya beams at her, open-mouthed. “Great! I’m gonna give you a massage first. Go get ready, baby.”

She does as she’s told and takes off all her clothes, stretches out on her front in the middle of the bed. Katya’s in her underwear. Her back is turned, and she’s preparing something Trixie can’t see with utter disinterest. When she’s finished, she comes back to the bed and straddles Trixie’s hips. Trixie hears the click of a bottle opening and then warm, firm hands at her back. The massage oil smells like lavender, and Trixie closes her eyes. Katya isn’t afraid to really work at her and she digs her knuckles into the meat of Trixie’s shoulders and the base of her neck.

It’s hot, of course it is, but Katya is so thorough and so gentle that mostly Trixie just feels cared for. She doesn’t even realise how wet she is until Katya nudges her thighs apart and touches her, rubs two fingers gently over the heat of her before she slides them inside. She leaves little kisses all over the base of Trixie’s spine and the tops of her thighs while she fucks into her slowly.

“Can you turn over, baby?” Katya says softly.

Trixie does, rolling onto her back and reaching for Katya immediately. She comes up the bed and draws her fingers out of Trixie. While they kiss Katya rubs light, frustrating circles over Trixie’s clit and she clenches around nothing, her throat tight with the effort of not whining. She doesn’t like the way that it sounds, but she thinks Katya does. She thinks Katya likes it a lot.

“What would you like?” Katya says quietly. It’s so still and calm in the apartment that Trixie can hear how wet she is and her own heartbeat in her ears, hear the tiny sounds of appreciation that Katya’s making.

Trixie kisses her, open-mouthed and deep and wet. She can’t keep still, her hips shifting against the sheets. “I want. . . I need you to fill me.”

Katya leaves Trixie breathing heavily and squirming in the middle of the bed while she steps into the strap and tightens it around her hips. Trixie opens her eyes in time to see her tug on her dick a couple times to check that it’s secure, and then she climbs back into the bed on her knees. She stays upright and hooks her hands at the creases of Trixie’s knees, arranges her so that Trixie’s thighs are draped over hers. For a little while she just lets Trixie rock her hips against the dildo and refuses to penetrate her, pulling back whenever Trixie moans and tries to take it inside.

“Katya, please, please,” Trixie says brokenly, and Katya finally fucks into her.

The angle she’s at, she can fuck Trixie in long deep strokes and she braces herself with her hands at Trixie’s thighs. She looks so beautiful like this, sweat beginning to bead at her temples with the exertion and all the muscles of her stomach tight. When Trixie gets close, Katya leans down over her and kisses her, her arms underneath Trixie’s and curled around to grip her shoulders. Their bodies slip together and Trixie cries out as she comes and clutches at Katya.

“Happy anniversary, gorgeous,” Katya says into her ear, and Trixie snorts a laugh.

It takes Katya maybe two minutes to get off, riding Trixie’s face and gripping the headboard with both hands. When she’s done, she rolls off of Trixie and stretches out on her back with her limbs all askew like a chalk outline. Trixie turns to face her and drapes her arm over Katya’s waist, kisses the ball of her shoulder. It feels warm like she’s sunburned.

She likes a lot of things — she likes _everything_ — about being with Katya, but this might be her favourite part. Drowsy and loose, with Katya half on top of her or with her head pillowed on Katya’s chest. It’s unusual for Trixie to be the big spoon, but she’s got her arm around Katya’s waist and her knees tucked up behind Katya’s. She twists around awkwardly to try to kiss her, but Trixie won’t give her the space to. It means she can only get her mouth against Trixie’s chin and her teeth scrape, the very tip of her tongue just darting out to touch.

“Hey Trix?” she says. Her voice has that dreamy quality to it that it only really gets when she’s right on the edge of sleep. Trixie hums in response and splays her hand over Katya’s stomach. “I really like you so much. I’m so happy.”

Trixie kisses Katya’s ear, right at the very tip where it’s folded over into a little point, and she feels it go warm beneath her lips.

“I like you too, Katya. I’m happy, too.” After that Katya is asleep in moments, her breathing drawing out and her body loosening against Trixie’s.

It never gets all the way dark in the city, so Trixie can see Katya’s face still. How much smoother it is when she’s sleeping, her mouth opening and closing every now and then. She’s clinging, tighter than Katya would ever allow her to if she were awake. Trixie buries her face in Katya’s hair, right at her nape, and inhales her. She smells good, like sleep and herself and like Trixie’s detergent. Trixie is looking forward to their morning, getting to wake up to Katya probably already up and dressed and done with yoga while Trixie is still rumpled and cantankerous.

She loves her.

Trixie hasn’t really allowed herself to think it since that conversation with Monét in the milkshake bar all those weeks ago. It startles her now and she almost yelps, almost leaps right out of the bed.

Trixie doesn’t ever want to wait at another party for Katya to arrive. She wants to show up right alongside her and hold her hand all night, sit together with their heads bent in close, talking quietly. She wants, every morning, to wake up and listen to Katya rambling through a rolodex of topics, barely coherent. She wants to be the person that always understands, always meets her where she is. She wants to be continually astonished by Katya. She almost, almost wakes her up to tell her that. Instead, she tightens her arm around Katya and lets herself tumble into sleep after her. 

It’s all she can think about, the next few days. Katya was her friend first, and Trixie likes to tell her friends that she loves them every chance she gets, but she hasn’t ever said it to Katya. It always felt like too much, too close to the truth. Now it’s on the tip of her tongue every time she looks at her.

They both have a day off work at the same time, which always feels like a small miracle whenever they can manage to make it happen. Katya suggests they do something exciting, but Trixie just wants to have an ordinary day and spend it together. They have a lazy breakfast and then head out to the grocery store because Katya wants to bake this afternoon. Katya carries their basket in one arm and keeps a hold of Trixie’s hand. It’s so domestic just to get to exist like this together that Trixie feels like she could cry.

Katya has snuck a bunch of candy and snacks into the basket like she thinks Trixie will reprimand her. After they’ve paid for everything, they come up the escalator and out onto the street. The city is starting to get hot now, and Trixie’s back is prickly with perspiration. She fumbles to move her bag to the opposite shoulder because it’s between her and Katya and bashing into both of them.

“Here, baby, I got it.” Katya holds out a hand and takes Trixie’s tiny white backpack, slings it onto her own back. Her sunglasses are on top of her head and she tries to tug them down but her hair has gotten tangled around one of the nose pads. She’s so cute and disgruntled trying to grapple with everything.

Trixie stops them walking and very gently untangles Katya’s hair. She slides the glasses onto her face for her and smoothes her hair flat again, leaves a little kiss at the end of her nose. When she pulls back she can feel how her face has gone gooey with tenderness but she can’t seem to do anything other than keep smiling softly down at Katya.

“ _What_?” Katya says, and then again three more times in quick succession.

“Nothing.” Trixie takes a small, steadying breath. “I just love you.”

Katya’s mouth opens and she stares at Trixie for a beat. Her eyes are so brilliant and clear even through the pink tint of her sunglasses, leaning more towards grey than blue today. Trixie stays very still and tries not to let her face betray her. She knows Katya doesn’t like sentimentality, and she holds back so much, but this is important.

When Katya finally cracks, it all happens very quickly. Her mouth stretches into a grin and she flings both arms around Trixie’s neck and cradles her whole head while she kisses her. It’s deep and wet and hot, her tongue in Trixie’s mouth immediately. She breaks away just enough that she can speak, her breath still coming in little puffs against Trixie’s cheek.

“Oh, my god. Trixie, baby, I love you so much. I’m so in love with you.”

She doesn’t realise she’s crying at first, but Katya is swiping gently at her cheeks to wipe away her tears before they’re even really falling. Their noses are pressed together and Trixie lets out a bubble of wet, embarrassing laughter. Her arms are around Katya’s waist, bent at the elbows so she can grip her shoulders and keep her close.

“You are?”

Katya kisses her again, and then once more, and then they’re both smiling so big that she really can’t. “Yes, of course. Are you dumb? Of course I am. You’re, like, my favourite person."

It’s probably going to be the only time she ever gets to hear words like this from Katya. Day to day, it’s not really _them_. When Trixie tries to pay Katya a compliment she usually scrunches her face up or screams or runs a tight little circle on the spot. It’s so good to hear it, and Trixie giggles and wipes away the last of her tears.

Now that it’s out there, Trixie finds she doesn’t want to stop saying it. She’s never subscribed to the notion that saying it too much makes it lose meaning; on the contrary, she means it more each time. “That’s good,” she says. “That would’ve been pretty embarrassing.”

“Oh my god, you’re so stupid, I can’t believe I’m in love with you,” Katya says, and she lifts Trixie’s hand to her mouth and kisses her knuckles. “I am, though. Come on, let's go home.” Katya gets a wicked slant to her mouth. “I wanna fuck you while the brownies are baking.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy juneteenth! please take some time today to uplift the voices of the black people in your community. i'm on [twitter](https://twitter.com/reallybeanie) and [tumblr](https://katiehoughton.tumblr.com/) if you'd like to talk more about that, or anything else ♡


	15. lathyrus odoratus.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you as always to the fuck rhombus, i love to daydream with you guys and i can't wait to make it reality someday. and [stutter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/stutter), my love, my heart is so full. thank you for making this story better, and making me better too.

“Can we take a bath?”

Katya had ambushed Trixie the minute she came through the front door, her brand new apartment key sticky-hot in her hand. Katya’s own hands are held out to take Trixie’s things, her backpack and sunglasses and phone, and she puts everything on the kitchen counter while Trixie wriggles out of her white sneakers and flexes her feet against the apartment floor.

When Katya comes back, Trixie lifts both eyebrows, turns her face towards her for a kiss hello. “You hate baths.”

“Mleh.” Katya flaps her hands. “I like you, though. Especially when you’re naked.”

She starts herding Trixie towards the bathroom with the insistent press of her body. Even though she’s shorter and has to lift up onto tiptoe, it works, and Trixie allows herself to be nudged along. She has a crick in her neck from a long session today and it’s making her whole body feel cumbersome and inelegant.

Inside the bathroom, Katya leans over to turn on the faucet and put the plug in the drain, start the tub filling. When she turns back, Trixie is just standing there looking at herself in the mirror and working the fingers of one hand against her shoulders and the top of her spine. Katya steps in close.

“Hey baby.” She brushes the backs of her fingers over Trixie’s cheek. “You on the planet still?”

“Hmm,” she says, turning her head into Katya’s touch like a cat. She can’t get her eyes to focus for a moment, she’s so tired, but then she manages to lift them to meet Katya’s and she smiles. “Yes. Feels a little soon to meet the in-laws, wouldn’t you say?”

Katya shrieks a shrill of laughter at that and it careens around the small, tiled space. She fists both hands in the bottom of Trixie’s t-shirt and starts tugging. Trixie is quietly cooperative, lifting her arms when Katya asks her to. When her head pops out from the bottom of the shirt her hair is in disarray, frizzy with the humidity of the day.

There’s a bottle of Trixie’s favourite bath oil in the cabinet below the sink. Katya knows right where to look and she uncaps it, pours a healthy stream of it into the flow of water from the faucet. It starts foaming into bubbles right away, as soon as it hits the bottom of the bathtub, and Katya swirls a hand through the water to agitate it. Trixie stands carefully upright so her bare ass doesn’t touch the countertop and watches Katya leaning over the side of the tub.

“Are you okay to go?” Katya asks her. Trixie unhooks her bra and pushes her underwear down her hips and off. She likes the way their two sets of clothes look, all piled together on the bathroom floor. The water is so hot that the room is filling up with steam already. It’s making her head feel inflated, plasticky.

Katya gets into the tub first and holds out her hand to Trixie. She takes it, lifting one wobbly leg over the edge of the tub to step in. Two warm, firm hands come to her hips to steady her as she brings her other foot into the water as well. Katya seems satisfied that Trixie isn’t about to topple over and she sinks slowly down to sit, opens her arms to Trixie.

“I’m gonna crush you.” Trixie frowns down at Katya where she’s arranged herself to lay against the back of the bathtub.

Katya shrugs and holds out her arms a little higher. “I’m stronger than this pale, sinewy body would have you believe. I promise you won’t crush me.”

The bathtub is so deep it takes forever to fill, and the water only just laps the top of Trixie’s thighs when she sits down. Katya makes an exaggerated puff of breath right against Trixie’s ear when she leans back against her, and she shifts around a bit to get comfortable. She’s got both arms around Trixie’s waist, and Trixie lets her head rest heavily in the crook of Katya’s neck.

“I was thinking about it,” Katya says. She’s feigning nonchalance, but Trixie can hear a small thread of tension in her voice. “Before. I wanted to be in here with you so bad.”

Katya’s elegant, pale neck is right there and Trixie turns her face, opens her mouth against that warm skin. She’s careful not to leave a mark — Katya has told her enough times about professionalism — but she lets her teeth scrape very gently, lets the very tip of her tongue dart out to touch as well.

“I was waiting for you to ask,” Trixie says, a truth for a truth. Katya isn’t going to be shocked to hear that Trixie wanted her, but she still feels the buoyancy of a secret confessed. “But you didn’t even look at me. So I talked myself out of the possibility of you being at all interested.”

Trixie’s pink-painted toes are poking out of the water and the bubbles and she wiggles them at Katya as if in greeting. She feels a little more with it now, the heat of the water and Katya underneath her helping to bring her back to herself. She smiles and lays a hand over Katya’s at her stomach.

The room is already humid and it’s making tiny baby hairs cling to both of their necks, making Trixie’s body loose and lazy where she rests against Katya. She brushes those short hairs aside and opens her mouth just below Trixie’s jaw, right where it meets her ear. She’s tracing looping, concentric patterns against the skin of Trixie’s stomach with just one fingertip.

It feels so good that Trixie arches, can’t help it, and Katya knuckles the spot just to the left of her spine where she knows that Trixie carries all of her stresses. Trixie purrs and slumps back against her. It makes her laugh, and Trixie turns her head for a kiss. It’s a little sloppy like this, the bubbles making both of their bodies slippery so that Trixie slides out of Katya’s grip like an eel. She manages to grip the meat of Trixie’s thigh and keep her close as her tongue slicks inside Trixie’s mouth.

Katya is breathing hard through her nose and she slides a wet hand into Trixie’s hair. It makes her grumble and she breaks apart from her, shifts around to straddle her thighs instead. She’s a little far back so that their hips aren’t quite touching. Katya makes a strangled noise and flexes her hands at Trixie’s waist.

“Don’t wet my hair,” Trixie says firmly, and Katya shows her her palms. She’s got her curls gathered in a messy knot on the top of her head, but a few tendrils are already beginning to escape and stick to her cheeks and forehead.

Katya gets her hand at the back of Trixie’s neck instead and draws her through the water and in close. Their kiss is lazy; Trixie feels a little too worn out from her day to really take it anywhere. Katya’s cradling her face in both hands, her thumb sweeping back and forth just below Trixie’s eye.

Katya’s mouth travels down the length of Trixie’s neck and her tongue darts out at her clavicle to capture the little droplets of water that have gathered there. Trixie hums, a hand at the back of Katya’s head, but then she fists a hand in her hair to tug her away. She turns around to lean back against Katya’s chest again, and moves her feet idly through the water just to see how it sends little ripples travelling outwards. Katya has both arms around her waist, palms splayed against her ribs to feel the shift as Trixie breathes.

“I didn’t look at you, because I didn’t trust myself.” Katya’s voice is low and serious, like it gets in the middle of the night sometimes, or when she’s tucking her thumb into the wedge shape of her fingers to slide her whole hand inside of Trixie. Trixie hums and lets her head roll against Katya’s shoulder. The water makes her feel swollen and hot with need. She presses her thighs together and Katya’s legs bracket hers. Katya says, “I wanted you so much. If I’d looked at you, I wouldn’t have been able to stop myself.” She brushes her thumb against the bottom swell of Trixie’s breast. “Can I?”

“ _Please_ ,” Trixie finds herself whispering.

Both of Katya’s hands come up to palm Trixie’s tits and she holds them there for a moment, just covering as much as she can in her small hands. Trixie closes her eyes and lets herself relax, gives herself over to Katya completely. Her nipples are puckering even in the warm air and Katya pinches and rolls them, hard enough that Trixie gasps and her hips rock down sharply.

She’s just on the right side of sleepy, her body loose so that pleasure moves easily through her into her extremities and makes her curl her toes. Katya is leaving little kisses against Trixie’s jaw and neck while she touches her tits. When Trixie starts whimpering, when her thighs press together involuntarily, Katya takes her hands away.

“Open your eyes, baby.” She nudges her nose against Trixie’s cheek and waits until she does as she’s told. “Look at us. Look at how good we are together.” Her hand slides down and between Trixie’s legs as easily as if she were touching her own body. Trixie is so wet and swollen and aching, and Katya rubs two fingers over her clit. It makes her shiver, makes her moan. “Does that feel good, honey?”

Katya knows exactly what she’s doing, and there’s the tiniest note of teasing in her voice but Trixie doesn’t even care because it does feel good. It’s a curious sensation, being in the water. Like she might drift right up to the ceiling if Katya weren’t holding on to her.

“Mm-hmm,” she manages.

Katya’s fingers still against her and she bites down on Trixie’s earlobe, hard. “Tell me. I need to hear you. You sound so pretty, baby.”

“Yes, _yeah_ , it feels good,” Trixie says. It’s so quiet in the bathroom, just Katya’s breathing in her ear and her own quiet, desperate little sounds. Katya rewards her, slides her index finger inside of Trixie, and she lets a groan rumble in her chest so that Katya feels it too. “You always make me feel so good, I hate you so much.”

Katya takes her hands away immediately, holds them aloft out of the water like she’s been told not to touch. “I don’t think that’s true, now is it?”

“ _Katya_ ,” Trixie moans. “God. Fine. It isn’t true. I _love_ you, are you happy?”

“Good girl.”

Katya fucks into her slowly, still just with one finger. She clenches hard, everything inside drawn up tight like a fist, but she knows better than to say what she wants before she’s asked. Especially when Katya’s like this. She brings her other hand around to rub at Trixie’s clit again and Trixie whines low in her throat, bites her lip so she doesn’t make too much noise. Katya’s touches are so light and careful and Trixie’s hips rock up helplessly against Katya’s hands.

“Do you think it could feel better, pretty girl? Hmm?” Trixie makes a tiny, desperate noise of affirmation. “What do you need?”

Trixie’s breath is shuddering in her chest. It’s so hot in the bathroom that sweat is beading at her hairline and sliding down towards her ears. She’s struggling to keep her eyes open, but every time she closes them Katya stops moving.

“More- inside. Please.”

Right away, Katya adds another finger and angles them both the way she knows makes Trixie insane. She can’t keep still, and water is sloshing up over the lip of the tub and onto the floor, soaking their clothes. It feels like she’s outside of her body, like she’s watching herself from overhead, but then Katya adds a third finger and bites the tendon where Trixie’s shoulder becomes her neck and she snaps back into herself.

It’s so hot to see Katya’s fingers disappearing inside of her over and over, how her other hand rubs practised circles over Trixie’s clit. She’s always liked Katya’s hands, always found herself looking at her long, slender fingers and her knuckles. And now they’re on her, in her. They look good together, in the reflection of a storefront window or a candid photograph one of their friends takes, but nothing, nothing is as good as this.

“You look so good like this, baby. You’re so beautiful.” Katya’s voice is a low murmur, gravelly, and Trixie can feel it in her jaw and cheekbone. “I want to watch you come, Trixie. Can you come for me?”

Trixie lifts one hand out of the water and searches uselessly behind herself until she feels Katya’s lips. She pushes two fingers into her mouth and Katya sucks on them, scrapes her teeth over Trixie’s skin, slides her tongue obscenely into the space between them. That’s all it takes. She drops her hand again and Katya talks her through it, tells her how pretty she is and what a good girl as Trixie bucks helplessly against her.

She lets herself have a little time to stay right where she is, sprawled gracelessly against Katya’s chest while her breathing levels out and her thighs stop quivering. Katya’s still got one hand between her legs and she strokes her idly every now and then, seems delighted by the aftershocks that ripple through her. When she does try to move, she finds that the sweat and humidity have stuck them together and she has to peel herself off Katya’s tits. She turns around in the water to see Katya grinning at her.

“Feel better?”

“I hate you,” she says again, but she leans forwards to kiss Katya with as much gratitude as she can manage.

She’d texted Katya in a snit at lunch, grumpy because she’d had a new client this morning who thought he knew more than she did and she’d exhausted all her reserves of patience trying to talk him down from his elaborate tattoo sketch. Katya had texted back _baby!!!_ followed by an eclectic assortment of sad emojis, and offered to come down to Prick, but Trixie said no. Katya would’ve gotten sucked into some small project at Nightshade on her way past and spent her entire day off at work anyway. All afternoon Trixie has felt inflated with pride at her own selflessness, her valour, but she’s been lonely for Katya.

“Thank you,” she says, and it comes out so sincere that it makes Katya wrinkle her nose immediately. “I needed that. I’ve been just, like, inconsolably grouchy all day.” Katya explodes suddenly with a bark of laughter, which Trixie ignores. “But I missed you.”

“I said I’d come down!” Katya squawks, and Trixie covers her mouth with her whole hand, smushing it closed. She licks Trixie’s palm, which she can only imagine must taste vaguely of brass from her apartment key. It’s only been a week since they exchanged them and she hasn’t yet broken the embarrassing habit of clutching it as if somebody might take it away again.

Trixie takes her hand away and says, “Do you want me to. . .?” She runs her hands up the outsides of Katya’s thighs. It feels strange, because her fingertips have wrinkled up. The water has gotten tepid now and the bubbles are almost totally gone.

Katya captures Trixie’s hands in hers and lifts them both to her mouth, kisses each of her knuckles one at a time. “No baby. Tonight is for you to be spoiled. We should get out, you have goosebumps.”

When Trixie makes to stand up Katya lets out a little noise and stops her with a hand at her shoulder. She stands up first and gets out of the tub, wraps a towel hastily around herself and knots it above her breasts. She holds out a towel for Trixie then, a huge fluffy yellow one. Trixie steps into it and Katya’s arms come around her. She leaves a kiss at Trixie’s forehead and lets go, lets her arrange the towel for herself.

Out in the main room, Trixie turns on her favourite playlist as low as the speaker will go, and pulls on pink pajama shorts with little Dachshunds all over them. She leaves her hair tied up because it’s a little damp at her nape and behind her ears. When she turns around, Katya is still in her towel and sprawled in the middle of the bed. Trixie climbs in next to her and props a couple of pillows against the headboard.

“Tonight is for me?” she checks. She gets a nod in return, and then carefully loosens the knot holding Katya’s towel together and opens it. Every time, her mouth goes dry at the sight of Katya’s firm stomach and her perfect tits and all of the artwork all over her skin that Trixie put there. “I’d like you to make yourself come, please. I’m not gonna touch you. I’m just gonna watch.”

Katya’s head drops back against the sheets, and Trixie watches her throat bounce as she swallows. Her chest is flushed, and the tips of her ears. Trixie’s pretty sure it’s not from the bath. It takes her a moment to get started, but Trixie folds her hands neatly in her lap and doesn’t say anything, doesn’t touch.

It’s interesting, the way Katya touches herself. It’s different from how she touches Trixie. She’s rougher with her own tits and she doesn’t spend as long on them, barely touches her nipples before she slides her hand down between her own legs. She opens her thighs and Trixie can see right down the length of her body.

Over the last few weeks, Trixie has come to learn that Katya doesn’t _love_ penetration. She doesn’t mind it, will sometimes ask Trixie for a finger or two, but every time Trixie has offered to be the one to wear the strap Katya has declined. She likes Trixie’s mouth the best, but is just as responsive to Trixie rubbing her clit and raking her nails up the outsides of her thighs. Now, she rubs herself with two fingers either side of her clit and gropes clumsily at her tits with her free hand. Her eyes are closed, a little crease of concentration between her brows. Her breaths are coming faster and she’s moaning very softly.

“Will you kiss me?” Katya’s eyes pop open and she angles her head up and back to see Trixie’s face. “Come down here and kiss me.”

Trixie has always known she’s a bottom, but she didn’t know until Katya how much she likes to be told what to do. How much she likes to let Katya be in charge of her pleasure. She shunts herself down the bed until their noses are touching and Katya slings her leg over Trixie’s. She’s still rubbing her clit, and Trixie can feel the back of her hand bumping against her bare thigh.

Katya is panting into Trixie’s mouth more than she’s kissing her back, and Trixie rests her hand at the back of Katya’s head and thumbs her ear. She said she wasn’t going to touch her but she can’t help herself. When Katya comes she drops her head to hide her face against Trixie’s chest and rocks her hips arrhythmically against her own hand and Trixie’s thigh.

She’s always at her most cuddly immediately afterwards, while she’s still coming down. She leaves her leg slung over Trixie and wraps her arm around her as well, her hand splayed between Trixie’s shoulder blades. She says quietly, “Was that. . . okay?”

“Yes?” Trixie says slowly. She’s not too worried; Katya is nuzzling her nose against the side of Trixie’s neck. “More than okay. It was really- I really liked it.”

Katya nods, seems pleased and proud from what little of her face Trixie can see from this angle. “I didn’t know if maybe I took it too far.”

“The topping?” Katya flushes and hides her face again, and Trixie giggles. “I was super into it, in case you couldn’t tell. And, hey?”

“Hmm?”

Trixie brushes her hair back so she can see a shard of her face, just one severe cheekbone and the lush edge of her smile. She feels so tender, spilling over with fondness. “You know I- I trust you enough — I _respect_ you enough — to tell you if I wasn’t.”

“I do know,” Katya says firmly. “And I love you.”

Katya lifts her chin and kisses Trixie properly, like she means it. They’re not going anywhere, and their kiss meanders from gentle to insistent and back again. Eventually, Katya settles with her head on the pillow next to Trixie and her arm over her waist. Trixie traces up and down the length of her forearm with just the pads of her fingers.

“I love you, too,” she says into the quiet, and she feels Katya smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm on [tumblr](https://katiehoughton.tumblr.com/) and [twitter](https://twitter.com/reallybeanie)! come yell and be gay with me! i'd love to know what you thought ♡


	16. delphinium cardinale.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so sorry for the delay on getting this chapter posted. the next one (the last one!) is already finished, so it'll be up on time for sure. thank you to the fuck rhombus, you are all nuts and there's nowhere else i'd rather be. and [stutter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/stutter). my life is so much brighter because you are in it. i love you, thank you.

Trixie is still adjusting to being a stranger in her own apartment. Her _old_ apartment. Her things aren’t here anymore, and now the first door off of the living room is Naomi’s bedroom, not hers. It made sense. She was spending all of her time at Katya’s place anyway, only ever trekking back over to Brooklyn when she needed to pick up some clean laundry, or when she missed Kim and wanted to hang out with her. Trixie still feels a little pang of grief whenever she has to knock on the front door. It’d been so strange the first time that Kim had closed it in her face again immediately and Trixie had shrieked a laugh that ascended up the stairwell and definitely annoyed their crotchety upstairs neighbour.

“You could, uh, come in? If you want to?” Naomi is standing in the doorway of her bedroom with her hip cocked against it, and she gestures vaguely behind herself.

Trixie cracks first. Loving Katya has made her quicker to laugh and she opens her mouth wide on a scream, says, “Girl, _no_. Don’t be weird. That’s your bedroom.”

“I know, but- okay. Yeah, you’re right.”

Naomi leaves the door open and retreats inside her room, and Trixie goes to fold herself dramatically cross-legged on the end of Kim’s bed instead. When she’d first learned that Naomi would be moving into the apartment to replace her, Trixie had assumed that she’d be sharing Kim’s room. She hadn’t ever brought it up again since the first time she asked, because she remembered all too well the hot shame of being made to deny her feelings over and over. It would be cruel to put Kim through that, even if she had been the main instigator of Trixie’s embarrassment.

 _Oh!_ she’d said, startled, when Naomi checked in to make sure that Trixie didn’t mind her taking over her old bedroom. Katya had been there too and she’d shared a small, conspiratorial glance with Trixie. They’d chattered about it all the way home on the subway, and Katya had taken it upon herself to ask Kim about it at work. That was maybe unkind, for Kim to have to talk to her boss about her personal life. Katya had come careening into Prick at lunchtime so quickly that Trixie had worried for the glass in the front door. She’d slammed both hands down on the countertop and leaned her weight forward onto them so she could get right into Trixie’s space and give her a fast kiss.

“They surely are not fucking,” Katya had announced triumphantly. “Kim says, generally, she doesn’t fuck people. They’re just really close friends. And not in the way that we- that you and I were close friends. Are.”

She’d sprung her weight onto her hands so swiftly that Trixie had thought she was about to vault right over the countertop, but instead she’d kissed her again and then disappeared back to her own store, to antagonise poor Kim some more, probably.

“Hey,” Kim says now.

She’s sitting up against her headboard with a bunch of different boxes of hair dye spread out around herself. When Monét arrives later Naomi is going to help her take out her box braids, and Kim and Trixie are going to dye each other’s hair. Trixie feels giddy with adolescence to be spending the evening with two of her best friends since college, and she’s pleased to have the chance to get to know Naomi a little more.

“What’s up?”

“I’m only going to say this once.” Kim points a finger at her. “And I’m going to hate it the whole time.” She has tiny, intricate floral detailing on the tips of her nails. Trixie doesn’t understand how she manages it. Katya keeps hers trimmed short and unpainted — Jinkx does too — and she and Trixie have a little nail brush beside the sink so she can scrub the dirt from beneath them as soon as she gets home. Kim drops her hand again and says, “I’m really proud of you, Trixie. It’s so good to see you so settled and happy.”

Trixie flips over onto her back so swiftly she almost topples herself right out of the bed. She throws an arm over her face and squeals into the crook of her elbow, kicking her feet against the mattress until Kim grabs one of them. “No! No! Don’t!” she wails, “I hate it!”

Hearing sincerity from Kim is the only time Trixie ever really understands Katya’s aversion to it. It makes her writhe like a bug caught beneath a child’s magnifying glass, makes her feel scorched. Kim lets go of her foot and Trixie sits up again to look at her. “Thank you, Kimberly. I’m proud of you, too. Let’s never talk about it again, okay?”

“Can we _please_ ,” Kim says.

Naomi has come to investigate the noise and she folds herself gracefully onto the bed with the two of them, her legs bare and shiny with lotion. She’s taken over the speaker and every new song that plays makes Kim grumble at her, but Trixie is living for the 90s throwback and she sings along as loud as she dares without disturbing the neighbours. She has one of Kim’s feet in her lap and she’s painting her toenails while Naomi does a sheet mask.

Her phone is in her backpack, still where she dumped it in the entryway, and she’s thinking about Katya but she isn’t distracted by her anymore. It makes her antsy when they go more than a handful of hours without talking, but they texted right before Trixie arrived. This evening Katya and Tatianna are going to some show at The Club Car, and it’s good to think about her being busy too. They still have their separate lives, even if they come home to the same apartment at the end of the day.

Monét, when she arrives, is characteristically exuberant. None of the three of them can be bothered to extract themselves from the bed, so when Monét knocks on the front door, Naomi yells, “Just break it down!” and Kim swats her with the back of her hand. Trixie is the one to get up, since Kim’s toes are still wet and Naomi has gotten cosy beneath a blanket. It means she gets first choice from the bag of snacks Monét picked up from the corner store on her way here. She’s fresh from a performance and still buoyed by the energy of the audience, and she talks Trixie’s ear off the short walk down the hallway together.

“Aren’t you supposed to be on vocal rest or something?” Trixie cuts in, and Monét opens her mouth wide in dismay, says _Trixieee-uh!_

They settle themselves at the foot of Kim’s bed together and Trixie upends the bag from the bodega onto the middle of the sheets so everyone can scavenge. Somebody puts a movie on Kim’s laptop, but it isn’t _Clueless_ so Trixie tunes it out immediately. She has her head pillowed on Monét’s shins and she closes her eyes, listens to the others get into a heated debate about which 90s movie character has the best wardrobe. Kim and Monét are both firmly on team Dionne, but Naomi insists that it’s Corey from _Empire Records_. Trixie lifts her head and says, “It’s obviously Romy and Michelle,” just to be disagreeable. She’s met with a chorus of firm rebuttals and she drops her head again, screams a laugh into the room at large. She feels foolish for ever thinking that her life wasn’t full without Katya in it.

Trixie doesn’t want to schlep all the way back to Manhattan by herself in the middle of the night, but staying over as a guest at her old apartment feels too weird, so she goes home with Monét.

“You wanna take the other side of the bed? I gotta be a more serene person to sleep next to than Zamo, girl.” Monét is busying herself making hot water with lemon and Trixie stands untethered in the kitchen with her hands in the back pockets of her shorts, rocking her weight on her heels.

“Oh, no, I’m fine on the couch. I’ll have to get up pretty early, I don’t wanna disturb you,” she says, and it’s not untrue, but more than that she can’t imagine sleeping beside anybody but Katya. She’s gotten used to the thrashing, and the yelling, and getting woken up at four am just to hear that she’s pretty and maybe get eaten out, if she’s lucky.

Monét says, “Okay, cool,” and takes her mug, pads out of the kitchen with it. She gives Trixie the spare pillow from her bed and a blanket, a new toothbrush from the cabinet under the sink, and then she says goodnight and closes the door to her bedroom.

Trixie drops heavily to sit on the couch and toes out of her sneakers. She didn’t bother to lace them properly for the walk to Monét’s apartment, and her heels and the sides of her feet are red and angry. She peels her socks off as well and flexes her toes against the floor until they pop. One earbud in, she starts peeling out of her shorts while she listens to the line ringing. There’s a good chance Katya won’t pick up this late, but Trixie doesn’t like to fall asleep without hearing her voice. She doesn’t know that she even _can_ fall asleep, it’s been so long since she’s tried.

“Hey, baby! Hello hi,” Katya says when she does pick up, and she sounds giddy, like she hasn’t even started winding down for the evening.

“Hey,” Trixie says, much, much more quietly, and on the other end of the line Katya shushes herself. Trixie can picture her so clearly, one finger over her mouth and her eyes enormous. Her heart feels so full that it aches. “Are you home?”

She can hear the familiar whine of the fluorescent lights in their hallway, Katya stomping up the stairs in her boots. They have an elevator at the new place, and a separate bedroom, and Trixie isn’t sure which is the bigger luxury. Katya doesn’t like to use the elevator, says it’s good exercise to take the stairs, but Trixie’s pretty sure she just likes clomping around in her boots. Katya’s voice sounds muffled like she has her phone trapped against her shoulder and she says, “Just walking through the door right now, Trixabelle. Your impeccable timing never ceases to impress, you witch. You sorceress.”

Trixie stays quiet and listens to Katya pottering around their home, settling in for the night, muttering to herself. She’s too hot on Monét’s couch, her bare thighs sticking to it every time she shifts, and she’s grumpy with it and with missing Katya.

“Okay,” Katya says finally. “You fall asleep on me?”

“No, still here.”

“Hi hello good evening. I’m in bed.” There’s another pause, rustling as Katya makes herself comfortable. “Listen, Trixie. I have to tell you something.”

Trixie rolls over onto her stomach with a noise like rubbing a balloon to make static. Some of her hair has gotten trapped beneath her arm and she grunts and lifts up, yanks it free, says to Katya, “Yeah? What?”

“I bumped into Violet at the show tonight.”

“Oh, you did?” Trixie doesn’t have to fake an understated reaction. Her voice comes out smooth and level, and her chest inflates with pride.

Katya says, “Yeah! She’s back in the city for a little bit. It was. . . it was good to see her. She asked if I want to grab dinner soon.”

“You should do that,” Trixie says. “That sounds fun.” She’s keeping her voice carefully low, aware of Monét trying to sleep on the other side of the wall. People are yelling out on the street below, there are sirens a few blocks away. It sounds just like the Brooklyn she loves, but it isn’t home anymore. Home is Katya throwing all the sheets onto their bedroom floor and starfishing in the middle of the bed, not caring that her hot skin is glued to Trixie’s. Home is early-morning barking from the veterinary clinic in the building next door to theirs.

“Yeah? Great!” Katya’s words are curved and bright with her smile. “Listen baby, you should get some sleep now. I’ll see you in the morning?”

“I’ll see you,” Trixie confirms. “I can’t wait. Goodnight, Katya. I love you.”

“I love _you_. Sweet dreams, Trixabelle.”

* * *

Trixie jerks awake with her alarm at six and tumbles, disoriented, right onto the floor. She groans and drops her head back against the couch, scrubs the heels of her palms into her eye sockets. There’s no need to be up quite this early, not when Prick doesn’t open until ten, but she’ll be back in Manhattan early enough that she can crawl back into bed with Katya for a little while before they have to start their days.

She pads around Monét’s apartment as quietly as she can and holds her breath when she closes the front door behind herself. Out on the street the day is not yet unpleasantly warm and Trixie takes her time walking to the subway station. This early, there isn’t much foot traffic, so she doesn't have to weave around tourists or commuters. She can enjoy the city. On the train she lets herself doze because the 2 runs all the way to 72nd, so she doesn’t have to stay alert for a transfer. She isn’t all the way asleep, but she feels pleasantly floaty and disengaged from reality.

Their regular guy at Joe’s has Katya’s iced coffee waiting already. He’s surprised to see Trixie picking it up and not Katya herself, and she humours his polite conversation while he fixes her an iced tea. Now that she’s a block away from Katya, Trixie is fidgety with how bad she wants to see her. She picks at her cuticles, taps her phone against the countertop, inspects the ends of her freshly-peach hair.

“Baby! Hi!” Katya says when Trixie finally gets back to the apartment, a plastic coffee cup sweating in each hand. “I’m so happy you’re home.” She’s in bed, but she has her workout clothes on, red yoga pants and a matching sports bra, and her hair is in two French braids. Trixie sets their drinks down on the nightstand and climbs right into bed, straddling Katya’s thighs and framing her face in both hands. They’re cold, and Katya lets out a little squeak that Trixie kisses right off of her.

For a little while, Trixie lets herself get lost in it. The feeling of Katya’s lithe body stretched out beneath her, the soft, happy noises she makes into Trixie’s mouth, her fingertips drifting up and down Trixie’s spine beneath her shirt. When Trixie eventually pulls back Katya is grinning up at her and she lets her head thunk back against the headboard. Trixie says, “Hi. I missed you a disgusting amount. Are we _those people_?”

“Did you spend the entire evening telling your friends how much you missed me? Or ignoring them to text me instead?”

Trixie wrinkles her nose. “No, obviously not. I’m from the Midwest, mama. I wasn’t raised right, but I did pick up, like, basic decorum.”

It earns her another kiss, and Katya says cheerfully, “Then we’re fine.”

They have enough time to drink their beverages, sitting shoulder to shoulder against the headboard, and Trixie hears all about Katya’s evening. She’d been surprised to see Violet, had no idea she was back in the city, and she’d agreed to get dinner with her tomorrow night. While she says that, she watches Trixie carefully, and Trixie feels calm and generous. Her shoulders don’t come up around her ears and she doesn’t frown, doesn’t stumble over her words.

“I think that’ll be fun,” she says.

Katya comes flying at her and wraps an arm around her neck, smudges a clumsy kiss against her mouth and most of her chin. “I think so, too. I’d like to be able to have a civil relationship with her, you know?”

Trixie doesn’t know, not really. She gets a bitter taste in her mouth whenever she thinks of Shea, can’t imagine ever sitting down opposite from her at a table and sharing a meal, sharing an evening. The way things ended with her hurt Trixie’s pride, made her feel small and foolish. It wasn’t like that for Katya and Violet.

“You haven’t done anything civil in your whole life,” Trixie tells Katya very seriously. “But if you’re looking to start now then that’s cool I guess.”

They don’t really talk about it, the next couple days. Trixie doesn’t even think about it all that much; she has a schedule so full at Prick she barely has time for lunch. When the evening rolls around, Trixie blow-dries Katya’s hair for her because she gets too hot and it makes her impatient and irritable. Trixie likes to do it, likes the way Katya leans in to her touch with her eyes closed and hums quietly. When she’s finished she kisses her, two fingers at her chin to tilt Katya’s face up towards hers and Katya’s knee between her thighs.

“Hey, Trixabelle, it’s okay if you’re jealous,” Katya tells her for the fourth time this evening.

Trixie takes a step back to take her in, and holds the tube of crimson liquid lipstick for Katya while she squints at herself in a compact mirror to apply it. She could just turn around and look at herself in the mirror over the vanity, but she says she likes being able to look at only her mouth, that it stops her from becoming distracted by the rest of her face. Trixie waits for her to be finished before she says, “Do you _want_ me to be jealous, Katya? Because you keep saying that.”

“Yes of course!” Katya says immediately. Trixie holds out the lipstick for Katya to screw it closed. She’s wearing a complicated sheer black number embellished with tiny crystals that clatter whenever she moves and make it so that Trixie is a little afraid to touch her. “I’m going to dinner with my ex, Trixie. I want you to care about that.”

“I do care about it.” Katya gets up from the vanity table very suddenly and pads through to the bedroom in search of her platform Docs, and Trixie follows her and sits on the end of their bed. She’s in pajama shorts, her hair still wet from the shower, and she feels shy about it with Katya so dolled up. “Katya. Hey.” Trixie holds out a hand until Katya takes it and allows herself to be reeled in. “I do care. But I don’t feel threatened. I don’t feel insecure. You’ll watch Violet have a nice dinner while you eat, I don’t know, the napkin probably. A whole bucket of ice. Your own shoes.” Katya’s red mouth opens and she makes a small, affronted noise. “And then you’ll come home to me, to our apartment. Our _life_. What do I have to be jealous of?”

Katya leans down and presses a kiss to Trixie’s forehead, and she leaves the stain there all evening. Having the apartment to herself for a handful of hours gives her a chance to play a little guitar. She’s working on a new song and she’s not ready for Katya to hear it yet, so she takes the opportunity to sit right on the living room floor and fumble her fingers against the strings until she figures out the correct chord progression.

It’s good just to exist in the quiet. She’s wearing her favourite fuzzy socks and the edge of the guitar is leaving a red welt in her thigh. Trixie does her best to be considerate of their neighbours, so she keeps her voice low while she sounds out the lyrics. They’re the part she finds the easiest, usually springing to her fully-formed when she’s at work or in the shower or on the subway. She didn’t even realise that this song was about Katya until she wrote it all down.

It startles her when the door opens, and she leans the guitar against the side of the couch and gets up to greet Katya, holds her up while she sways on one leg and struggles with the laces of her shoes. Her cheeks are pink with happiness and she’s affectionate and sweet, holding Trixie’s hand to drag her into the bathroom for some company while she takes her makeup off.

“It was good!” Katya says into the bowl of the sink and soap gets into her mouth, makes her grimace. She straightens up again and blinks at Trixie, a scrim of mascara around her eyes. Love for her pours through Trixie and she has to hop up and sit on the countertop with her hands trapped beneath her thighs so she can let Katya finish getting ready for sleep. “It was. . . we are living such wildly different lives. It’s pretty crazy to imagine us ever having been at all compatible, you know?”

“I know,” Trixie agrees. Katya is holding her toothbrush out expectantly, so Trixie squeezes the toothpaste onto it for her and wipes away the excess from the cap with the edge of her thumb. “I domesticated you.”

“You did no such thing,” Katya garbles at her around her toothbrush. Trixie lifts an eyebrow and absolutely refuses to engage until Katya spits and rinses. She says, “I was already settled in my life, Tracy. I was already- you’re just a good fit. I didn’t have to change for you.”

Trixie hops down from the counter again and kisses Katya’s freshly clean cheeks, the graceful slope of her nose, her mint-mouth. Out of her shoes and her heavy dress she feels tiny in Trixie’s arms, and she allows herself to be held for longer than Trixie is expecting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm on [twitter](https://twitter.com/reallybeanie) and [tumblr](https://katiehoughton.tumblr.com/) if you'd like to chat! i'd love to know what you thought of this one ♡


	17. paeonia mairei.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks as always to the fuck rhombus, i love you all so very much. the playlist for this story is [here](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0Y0gt6231cCPK3Mjme9FiG?si=PsTnM3h8R8ycQfbEWdv6Kg), if you missed it!
> 
> i talk a lot about how this story wouldn’t be what it is without [stutter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/stutter), but it’s _true_. not only is she a remarkable, talented, considerate beta, but she has also been holding my hand and cheering for me since the day i started this story. she has shown me endless patience, tenderness and love while i’ve spiralled out about these girls a hundred times. if you liked this story at all, you owe her a debt of gratitude. my own is insurmountable.

Trixie wakes up to the weight of Katya in her lap and tiny kisses scattered all across her cheeks and forehead. They’ve been living together for ten months, and she still feels a little thrill of pleasure when she opens her eyes to Katya’s kind face hovering over hers. It’s that disorienting winter darkness outside, so Trixie can’t tell whether it’s four in the morning or whether her alarm could go off any second. Katya is wide awake and giddy, bouncing up and down a little bit on Trixie’s hips.

“Good morning,” she says, a little louder than Trixie would like having been awake for less than a minute.

Trixie lifts her hand and lets it settle at Katya’s bare thigh, works her thumb absently into the crease where her leg becomes her hip. It grounds her immediately and she stops bouncing. Trixie says, “Mm. Morning. Are you okay?”

“I’m great!” Katya is beaming, but she’s hot and electric in Trixie’s lap, fidgety. She doesn’t meet Trixie’s eyes, can’t lift them from her own hands for more than a moment. “I want to do something today. You might not want to, and that’s fine. That’s so fine. It just came to me in the night. I woke up two times, thinking about it.”

It feels like this is going to be an important conversation, so Trixie sits up. Katya leans around her to arrange the pillows so Trixie can lean back comfortably against the headboard. She stays right where she is, straddling Trixie’s thighs. All of her hair is flat on one side of her head, so Trixie is hopeful that she managed to sleep at least a handful of hours. Her cuticles, when Trixie catches sight of them in her lap, are shredded.

“What did you want to do?” Trixie asks, and brushes her fingers against Katya’s cheek. Her face has filled out since they’ve lived together. Trixie doesn’t let her get away with not eating breakfast, and they do their best to have dinner together every day. She looks happy, and more than once Trixie has caught her admiring her own ass in the mirror because it has, according to her, gotten _extremely chunky_.

Katya swallows and drops her eyes again, but she nuzzles her face into Trixie’s hand. “I’m very tired of you not being my wife, Trixabelle. Can we get married today?”

All of the breath goes out of Trixie like she’s been socked in the stomach and her jaw drops. It’s not completely out of the blue. They’ve talked about it, some. Months and months ago, when Katya got home from setting up a particularly lavish and stressful wedding and proclaimed that she didn’t understand why anyone would want to do that to themselves. It’d upset Trixie. They’re young, especially in this city, but she knows what she wants. Maybe it’s the Pollyanna in her, but when she’s near Katya she feels invincible.

They’re way past hiding their hurt from each other. They had talked it out, and eventually Katya had said that she didn’t understand the appeal of a _wedding_ , but that didn’t mean she was opposed to being married. “I think it’d be pretty sexy to file taxes together, Trix,” Katya had said. “I’m a successful business owner. I know you don’t need it, you’re successful too, but I wanna take care of you.”

Since then Trixie has tried to forget about it, because she knows it’s hardly at the top of Katya’s list of goals for her future. It’s started to become less important to Trixie, too. The world hasn’t ever looked so wonderful as it does now that she gets to share it with Katya. Sometimes Trixie looks at her, and she can’t imagine ever feeling anything other than love for the rest of her life.

“You want to get married?” Trixie whispers, and Katya leans in and kisses the shock right off her mouth.

Trixie’s limbs feel all jumbled up and disconnected and she can’t seem to figure out how to make her hands work, how to touch Katya, but it doesn’t matter. She’s doing enough touching for the both of them, the heel of her palm in the centre of Trixie’s chest and her other hand against her neck.

When they separate, Katya is smiling so wide that Trixie can see all of her teeth and her tongue. “Yes I do. I really do. I want to be your wife, I wanna be married. To you.”

“This isn’t just one of your hyperfixations?” Trixie tilts her head. Katya will sometimes become immediately, deeply obsessed with something and then a couple weeks later drop it completely. Trixie finds it charming and does her best to meet Katya’s enthusiasm every time. She couldn’t bear it if being married were another of Katya’s passion projects, burned out too quickly and relegated to the corner of their closet.

“It’s not. Trixie, I am so in love with you. I don’t want to wait months and months planning some big extravagant day that costs way too much. I just want to be married to you, right now.”

Trixie laughs and steals another kiss, says, “We can’t get married today.” Katya’s face collapses and Trixie hurries to explain. “You have to wait a day once you get the licence. If you want, though, let’s get married tomorrow?”

“Oh my God, oh my God, really?” Joy comes spilling out of Katya and Trixie giggles too and throws her arms around Katya’s neck. She’s squirming in Trixie’s lap, too happy to keep still, and she kisses her clumsily.

“Yes, really,” Trixie tells her. “But can I sleep a little more first?”

Katya squawks and pushes on Trixie’s shoulders to encourage her to lay down flat again. She fluffs the pillows and tucks the blanket tight around their bodies, curls herself up small with both of her arms wrapped around one of Trixie’s. There’s not enough time to fall back to sleep all the way, but she dozes with Katya warm and breathing softly next to her.

When her alarm does eventually go, Trixie gets up to take a shower. Katya says she’s going to run out and get a coffee, and a peppermint hot chocolate for Trixie. While Trixie is standing naked in the bathroom waiting for the water to get warm she gets a notification in the group chat, a message from Katya:

_hey guys!! good morning! me and trixie are getting married tomorrow, if anyone wants to come_

Trixie laughs loudly and sets her phone down on the side of the sink. She stands under the spray of the shower head, careful not to get her hair wet, and listens to her phone pinging with message after message from their friends. The chat has Pearl, Kim and Naomi, Monét and Tatianna. All of the people Trixie likes best in the world. For a brief moment she thinks about what it would be like if she were a person who could let her family know. If they would descend on the city and glow with pride and happiness for her.

Katya comes back in and calls out to Trixie that she’s here, and it makes her grin so widely that she gets shower water in her mouth and she forgets all about missing her mom. When she comes out of the bathroom, the chat has close to a hundred notifications. Katya is talking on the phone, upside down on the couch with her legs dangling over the back of it, and she’s drumming her heels loudly.

“That’s amazing. Thank you so much. You’re my favourite person in the world.” Katya’s eyes dart to Trixie’s face and she wrinkles her nose. “No you’re not, Trixie is, but you’re a close second. We’ll see you tomorrow. Thank you.”

She hangs up and flips around to sit on the couch the right way, holds out her hands until Trixie comes to sit in her lap. It’s the middle of winter and not warm in their apartment; Trixie’s still in just a towel and her legs and arms are prickly with gooseflesh.

“Who was that?”

Katya kisses Trixie’s jaw, just in front of her ear. She’s got both arms around her waist to keep her stable where she’s balanced on her knees.

“Bob. He mentioned to me offhand that he’s ordained, a few months back. He said he’s free tomorrow and would be happy to marry us.”

The last of Trixie’s uncertainty melts away at that. Katya’s been thinking about this for months, planning to ask Bob.

“We’re really gonna do this, huh?” Trixie says softly. She turns her head and Katya meets her, kisses her softly. She tastes a little coffee, but she always gets vanilla in it too so it’s not unpleasant.

“We are. Go get dressed, baby. We gotta get our licence.”

* * *

The heat is cranked up so high in the City Clerk’s office that Trixie’s skin feels uncomfortably dry right away. They sit side by side in the waiting room, their clasped hands between their two chairs. Trixie really didn’t get enough sleep and it’s so warm that she has to fight not to tumble over sideways and take a nap with her face mashed against Katya’s shoulder.

It wouldn’t be comfortable, not with how Katya’s leg is bouncing. Trixie lays a hand at her knee and says very quietly, “Are you good? You still wanna do this?”

“Yes!” Katya blurts, and several heads swivel towards them. Even in New York, even in this decade, Trixie feels a little shy. There’s a terrified girl from the Midwest that she carries around in her heart always. Her fingers flex in Katya’s grip, but she won’t let her go. “I’m so sure, Trixie. I’m not nervous. I’m excited.”

Trixie says, “Or you have some horribly rare disease and this is just the first sign that your flesh is about to start rotting away.” Katya pouts at her, but she settles in her chair a little more and they’re quiet until it’s their turn.

After they’ve got their licence, they make their way back uptown. It’s freezing out, and Trixie tucks her gloved hands up inside the sleeves of her coat as they walk to the subway station. They take the Q up to 57th Street. Katya tries to get off in Soho, wanting to spend the entire afternoon meandering through the streets, investigating all the little boutiques. Trixie snatches the sleeve of her coat before she can get through the doors. It’s so cold, and they really don’t have time.

Katya grumbles the entire time they’re at the Nordstrom Flagship. “All of your clothes are pretty, Trixabelle!” she says, standing at the end of the aisle with her hands on her hips. “I’m just gonna wear my pink suit.”

Trixie snorts and squeezes her way past Katya’s wide elbows to look at the next rack. “Oh, sure, just a pink leather suit. We all have one of those.” Katya comes around to stand next to Trixie and tug petulantly on the ends of her scarf. Trixie says, “Anything in your closet is theatrical enough that you could get married in it. I want something special.”

The dress they pick out is beautiful, cream tulle that goes all the way to the floor with a slit up to the middle of her thigh. The bodice is embroidered with intricate flowers in white and coral and powder blue, and they cascade down the skirt a little ways too. When she comes out of the fitting room Katya drops her phone on the ground and stares, slack-jawed, at her.

“That’s so sweet, to have a friend like that,” the girl helping them says.

It makes Trixie scream a laugh and Katya comes over and makes a show of kissing her, bending her back over her arm. When they straighten up the poor girl is flushed bright pink and Katya grins. “We’re not friends,” she says, and Trixie swats her on the arm.

Trixie spends most of the evening sitting on her hands, trying to reduce the temptation to sneak a peek inside the garment bag hanging in their closet. She’s astonished by how much of the gruntwork Katya is willing to shoulder, how she coordinates with their friends to plan. The whole point of doing this so impulsively was to avoid any stress, so eventually Trixie takes the laptop out of Katya’s hands and her glasses right off her face and makes her curl up to watch a movie instead.

“You’re really gonna marry me,” Katya says softly, right as Jodie Foster hits target velocity and is consumed with white light.

When Trixie cranes her neck to look at her, she’s smiling serenely. She propels herself suddenly upwards to steal a small kiss from Trixie, who hums a contented noise into it and says, “Yeah, I sure am. Spending the rest of our lives together isn’t such a big commitment, Zamo. You’ve only got a couple months left in you.”

That makes her erupt with an affronted noise and she climbs into Trixie’s lap to kiss her properly, the movie forgotten.

Neither of them get very much sleep. Trixie keeps finding herself suddenly wide-awake and upright in bed like it’s Christmas morning, her eyes shiny in the low light of their bedroom. Each time, when she turns to look over her own shoulder, Katya is awake too and watching her quietly. She kisses Trixie’s fingertips or her cheek, pets her hair until she settles again.

They get married in Nightshade. Katya prints off a sign for the front door that says _closed for a private event_ and they pack the store with all the people they love. Katya’s sister Mila comes in from Boston to be there and FaceTimes her parents so they can watch the ceremony. Yesterday, Trixie found a quiet moment to suggest that they delay just a short while, so Katya’s parents could be here. She’d said that she couldn’t bear one more day not having Trixie be her wife. She’d been so resolute that it had made Trixie afraid that if they don’t get married right now, today, they never will.

Bob is a perfect officiant. They’ve spent enough time with him over the last year or so that he can drop in a couple anecdotes throughout their small, short ceremony, and Monét only heckles him a handful of times. Everyone’s sitting on the floor of the store and Trixie and Katya are standing near the window, right in front of the fiddle leaf figs. Gurbil Junior’s newly-budding crown of foliage keeps getting tangled in the loose pieces of Katya’s hair. The afternoon light is golden and beautiful, a rare clear-sky day in the middle of the winter.

They don’t have real rings to exchange, so they each got to pick out something from Jinkx’s confectioner's box of jewellery. Katya had snatched up the very first thing she saw, a solid gold band with a sapphire and two pearls. It’s more understated than Trixie imagined she’d choose. Trixie had taken her time, sifting her fingers carefully through all of Jinkx’s pieces and letting them brush against the green crushed velvet lining of the jewellery case. She’d settled eventually on a gold band set with four white diamonds and a ruby. Jinkx had been uncharacteristically reticent as she watched them, and Trixie has a small feeling in the pit of her stomach that these are going to be their real rings after all.

Kim made a flower crown for Trixie to wear today, was up all night doing it if the coffee she’s clutching in both hands is any indication. Monét and Tatianna went to Levain and picked up a couple of gift boxes. Pearl has made them a playlist and lugged her fancy speaker to the Upper West Side. Raven did both of their makeup this morning, the two of them sitting side by side on the tattoo chair in the back room of Prick. Raja is going to be their witness and sign their marriage certificate.

Everyone they love, everyone who loves them, has made this happen with a little over twenty four hours’ notice. Trixie is a little teary-eyed all day, and Raven keeps shaking her head sharply whenever she catches her looking like she’s about to crack.

After the ceremony is done and Bob has pronounced them wife and wife, Katya kisses her for so long that it becomes indecent and Pearl yells at them to get a room. It breaks them apart because Trixie honks a laugh right into Katya’s mouth. She feels dizzy with joy and she has to sit down right on the floor, but all of their friends are already there waiting for her.

Katya feeds Trixie little mouthfuls of cookie from her fingers like a baby bird while they chat with everyone. They picked up a few Polaroid cameras and a whole bunch of film, so people are taking pictures in all sorts of different combinations and attaching them with tiny wooden pegs to the twine Kim strung up. It’s beautiful. Trixie can’t believe how quickly they managed to pull everything together.

“You’re my wife,” Katya keeps telling her, and kissing her cheeks and forehead and her mouth, very softly and in spite of Raven’s grumbling. Trixie holds her hand the entire evening, can’t bear to stop touching her.

There’s not a whole lot of room in Nightshade for dancing, but everybody makes it work. Katya has her hands on Trixie’s hips to keep her close and she slides them up to her waist, hauls her in even tighter against her. A flash goes off and Trixie shrieks, has to wait for her vision to clear before she sees Monét pointing the camera at the two of them and cackling.

When the party starts to wind down it’s pretty late. Trixie’s feet are hurting from her heels and she’s sitting on the counter, Katya standing between her thighs. She’s got her hands in the back pockets of Katya’s pink dress pants and she’s fully groping her in front of everyone they love.

Katya’s her _wife_.

They’re here, in this store, where Trixie thought she might never get to have her. She feels so full up with joy and peace and gratitude, and her face aches from smiling. Trixie arches into Katya so that their chests are flush and kisses her, tries not to let any urgency into it while people are still here.

No one’s really paying them any attention. Bob and Monét are arguing about who gets to have the last cookie, Pearl is dancing with Tatianna and Kim is busy updating Nightshade’s Instagram story with details from the day. She took a couple of pictures of the two of them outside their stores earlier, right when the light was perfect. Mila is talking to Jinkx; from the snippets Trixie’s overheard, it seems like they’re trading Katya anecdotes. A part of her wants to get in on that conversation, but it passes quickly.

It’s good to have a moment of intimacy with her wife. Her _wife_. It’s going to take a little while to get her head around that. She’s smiling again, can’t help it, and Katya grins down at her, asks, “So, hey, how’s your day been, baby?”

Trixie laughs, and lets her gaze drift around the room to take everything in again before she meets Katya’s eyes. “This has been a perfect day. Thank you, for making this happen for us.”

“Thanks for marrying me,” Katya says back very seriously, and then her face softens and she cradles Trixie’s face in both hands. “My pretty wife.”

Trixie turns her head to kiss Katya’s palm. “I’ll marry you every day if you want.”

That makes Katya laugh, and it draws people’s attention over to them again. Trixie takes her hands out of Katya’s back pockets so that she can turn around and lean back against Trixie’s chest instead. Somebody takes another picture of them, but Trixie is too busy kissing Katya’s cheek to pay attention to who it is.

The song changes, and everyone yells and jumps to their feet. Somebody turns the volume up by about fifteen notches, flooding the room with the opening riffs of “Modern Love.” The store feels so tiny with so many people packed in, and joy floats up to the ceiling. Trixie’s noticed a few people walking by on the street do a double take, or even stop walking completely to see what’s going on. She hops down from the counter, wanting to dance, but her wife stops her with her fingers circled at her wrist before she can join the throng of their friends.

“Do you still like me?” Katya asks.

Trixie smiles, kisses her cheek, says, “More every day.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trixie’s dress [[x](https://www.teutamatoshi.com/products/blossom-essence-teuta-matoshi-gown)] | trixie’s ring [[x](https://www.rocknrose.co.uk/collections/exclusive-vintage-rings/products/peggy-exclusive-vintage-9ct-gold-opal-and-amethyst-ring)] | katya’s ring [[x](https://www.rocknrose.co.uk/collections/exclusive-vintage-rings/products/rosalind-9ct-gold-sapphire-pearl-ring)]
> 
> wow! i can't believe this story has come to an end. i started working on it november 1st, for nanowrimo, and it has been such a joy to be with these girls, in this universe, for these eight months. the world looks a lot different now than it did when i started. i hope this story has been some small comfort for all of you, as it has been for me. thank you for all of your support and kind words of encouragement. i am so, so grateful. i'm on [tumblr](https://katiehoughton.tumblr.com/) and [twitter](https://twitter.com/reallybeanie) if you want to chat ♡


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